


Calling All The Monsters

by Kami_Inu



Category: Hazbin Hotel (Web Series)
Genre: AU, Alastor with a gun??, Angst, Blood Kink(?), Blood and Gore, Broken Families, Crimes & Criminals, Dark Comedy, Drama & Romance, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, Friendship, Hell, Hellsing-inspired, Het, Home Invasion, Horror, Humans and Demons, Killer PlotBunnies run away run away, Master & Servant, Mild BelleMoth, Mild Chaggie, Mild femslash, RadioBelle, Romance, Songfic, Strong Violence, Supernatural Elements, Swooning Warning??, Too many HuniCast streams, charlastor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 18:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 77,679
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23591341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kami_Inu/pseuds/Kami_Inu
Summary: “If you're only dreamin',Why I hear you screamin'?Tonight all the monsters gonna dance,Comin' to get you...”Even from a young age, Charlie had a feeling that the Magne's business wasn't exactly the most well-liked among the masses. What shewasn'texpecting though, was a home invasion on her 21st birthday, after inheriting official duties when her folks went MIA a few months earlier.However, while running for her life through the manor she'd grown up in, and thought she knew inside and out, she finds a hidden door in her parents' bedroom. And upon opening it...comes face-to-face with theultimatefamily secret.Perhaps it wasn't the enemies her Father had made above ground that she should've been so terrified of...but the'friends'he'd had waiting down below.Tags to be added as story progresses.
Relationships: Alastor & Charlie Magne, Alastor/Charlie Magne, Charlie Magne & Vaggie, Charlie Magne/Vaggie, Lilith Magne/Lucifer Magne
Comments: 283
Kudos: 288





	1. Please Don't Threaten Me With A Good Time, I'm Scared

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh, boy. Twenty-one, and already in for a world of trouble. Charlie is unexpectedly in charge of the Magne corporation now, but with great power, comes even greater consequence...

_Shit! Shit! **Shit!** I thought I knew my own house better! Why is this happening?! Why now?! **Why me?!**_

Low heels pounded against a mix of carpet and wood, in time with the frantic beats of a young heart beneath a silky white blouse. Lengthy, wavy blonde locks were whipping about a petite-proportioned form, as dark eyes frantically scanned surroundings that were racing by in a blur. Panicked, raspy breathing, punctuated by the occasional whimper or sob, seemed to echo, as soft as they were, off of the high walls and ceiling. A billowing skirt shifted around thin ankles, while the hallways continued to stretch out before her like a winding maze from a horror movie.

She wished she could just wake up, bundled under thick, downy comforters and light, cotton sheets, merely shaken from vivid visions dancing behind her eyes. However, it was all too apparent, by the shouts and shots ringing out from below, on the lower floors. From the crashing of various objects, glass breaking, and the pains traveling up her legs, thanks to her non-stop, breakneck pace. From the sweat dripping down her face, mingling with faint tears and smudged makeup. From the ache in her chest, exacerbated by labored breathing and sheer adrenaline coursing through her veins. The faintest taste of strawberry wine lingered upon her tongue and lips, a reminder of where she'd been just minutes before - though it seemed like an eternity had already passed, by this point.

No, this was all very real, every last second. Charlotte 'Charlie' Magne was trapped, and running for her life, in her own home. She had no idea where she was going, or _how_ she was going to get out of this situation, much less alive.

What a way to celebrate one's twenty-first birthday.

She'd already been on edge for the last few months, after the 'disappearance' of her parents. Granted, they'd been out of the picture for a while now – or, at least, her life in the physical sense. Constantly tethered to the family business, it had been roughly around high school when they'd finally stepped out completely, taking up with their travels overseas, and managing their affairs from various hotels and villas scattered across the globe. Although Charlie couldn't always keep track of where they'd wind up, or for how long, she'd been able to maintain some sort of contact with her Mother, Lilith. The woman was willing to talk to Charlie over the phone once every week or two, if only to soothe her worries and establish a single valid communication system. 

To be honest, Charlie hadn't been too upset; sure, she'd get hit with loneliness, every once in a while. But, even from a young age, it had been all too clear that her parents subscribed to the mantra of “Work first, everything and everyone else second.” It was no wonder the Magne company was as successful as it was. They weren't abusive, certainly – with such a privileged lifestyle, she hadn't wanted for much of anything...other than companionship. But hey, that's where hired help came in handy, right?

Okay, no. She wasn't clingy with her staff. Charlie had been lucky enough to have made one friend throughout her adolescent years, one who had stayed by her side through all the ups and downs. One who was currently somewhere in this very mansion, fighting for her life...

When her Mother had missed the first two or three check-ins from her daughter, Vaggie, short for 'Vagatha', had told her not to fret. That, knowing her folks, in particular her Father, Lucifer, it was completely possible that they'd simply gotten ridiculously wrapped up in official affairs. Maybe they'd decided to disconnect from the outside for a bit, until things had calmed down some. 

Perhaps her Mother had found a new passion project on the stage, and was involved heavily in rehearsals and the like. Being that she'd always had such a love for theater and music, and would, once in a while, work on something in the midst of all the chaos of managing a lucrative worldwide company, it wasn't implausible at all. This had seemed like sound reasoning...

...until, a few days later, when Charlie had begun receiving messages and calls from various staff members, both business-related and otherwise, about how her parents hadn't come home, or had been missing meetings, and even certain payments. That was when the alarm bells had started going off in Charlie's head. Even more so, upon checking into their bank accounts, and seeing that all activity had stalled, since right around when she'd first lost contact.

From there, Vaggie had moved in, to keep her company in the grand manor she'd always called home, but which now felt far more like a beautiful prison than anything else. Charlie hadn't had a single idea of where to begin, or who to turn to. Her parents had so many locales established all over, that it was impossible to figure out where they could've gone from their last arrivals, or even where they'd been before that could've possibly played any sort of role in their sudden vanishing.

Charlie wasn't stupid. She knew her family had enemies, and it wasn't just for their wealth. From other families, who'd envied their general position and assets, to business owners who'd been steamrolled and taken over, to even shady faces that had been completely milked dry and then outed, cast aside once her Father had no need for their services. The older she'd gotten, the more obvious it had become, and the more frequent the run-ins had seemed.

Even worse, was the unexpected revelation of the family business falling squarely on her shoulders, just a few days earlier. When the lawyers and attorneys had shown up on her doorstep, explaining the failsafe plan her folks had set in place, years before she would've been old enough to understand. Nobody had consulted with her about anything – that, should the unthinkable happen to Lucifer and Lilith, Charlie, being the lone immediate heir, was to automatically assume responsibility for all of the stock and obligations her family bore. Vaggie had quite a few curses, most in Salvadoran, to offer upon the revelation, aimed solely at her parents. Especially her Father, seeing as he was the more ruthless of the pair, and it was all too clear that this arrangement had most likely been conceived entirely by his mind. 

Lilith had always been willing to honor her thoughts and feelings. He, on the other end of things, had always felt that Charlie had her head “too far in the clouds”, that she was an overly sympathetic idealist, and that she needed to “grow up and get tough”. Even if it hadn't been her desire, he'd expected her to take over the business, and if she wasn't going to do it willingly, then he'd just have to force her hand. Hence, this current mess. 

All of this madness, and she hadn't even turned twenty-one yet. No, that was for tonight, which was followed by the current predicament Charlie found herself in.

They hadn't been planning any real sort of shindig. Unfortunately, word had gotten out about the Magne's disappearance, as well as Charlie's sudden inheritance, no matter how hard they'd been trying to keep it under wraps. Through the circles they ran in, anyway. So, a good few 'close family friends' had taken it upon themselves to barge in that morning, beginning preparations for a “suitable celebration, befitting of the new president to the Magne name. It's what your folks would've wanted.” 

Really, the sole thing Charlie had been looking forward to was being able to drink without anyone giving her a second glance. Not getting drunk, mind you, just tipsy enough to try and relax some, if only for one evening. She'd let them go ahead with the prep, simply holing up in her room with Vaggie until it was ultimately time to get ready. She hadn't dressed up, but she'd at least been presentable and tidy. Her best friend had made sure to assist on that end. “If they're gonna insist on this crap, then we won't give them anything else to talk about. Gotta be gracious and whatnot, yeah? Looking sloppy kinda negates that.”

It had been right when she'd been enjoying her second glass of wine, just as everyone had been reaching the highest point in “Happy Birthday”, that the front doors had suddenly burst open. As everyone had been scrambling to see what was going on, angry voices rang out, followed by an unmistakeable stream...of gunfire. Charlie had seen enough movies to recognize it. The only difference was in its pitch. Real gunfire hurt the untrained ear.

Her head and heart had started to pound, while her hearing was ringing. Screams had begun to rise upon the air, and Charlie found herself being yanked from her seat by a frantic Vaggie, wine glass toppling to the floor and spilling its contents. She couldn't care, not in that moment, as the pair had bolted from the dining room, into the kitchen and out the side door, leading to one of the guest bathrooms beside the grand winding staircase. 

Vaggie had already been pulling out knives from under her skirt, strapped to her garters. Charlie had been gawking – not at the blades, she knew the girl was an avid collector, along with being something of a hothead. No, what had caught her off-guard was the fact that Vaggie had felt it necessary to gear up for her _freaking birthday party._ She'd noticed Charlie's gaping stare, and responded by grabbing her shoulders and shaking her violently.

“Charlie, snap outta it! I don't know how, but these guys must've found out about your situation! Probably thanks to those stupid loudmouths who invited themselves here!" Another bitter curse in her native tongue. "Whether they're long-time lurkers looking for an opportunity, or just punks taking a chance, I don't know! But, if we don't act soon, we're all gonna die! And like _**hell**_ I'll let anything happen to you!”

Swearing once more under her breath, Vaggie had pushed her towards the steps. The sound of all-out warfare had been drawing closer. “Figures. The one time we don't have our phones right on us, is when this shit happens. Just our luck.” She was already getting ready to fight. “I'll do my best to take out anyone who tries to come up this way. You just find shelter in the room, and get the cops here, pronto.” Vaggie knew how to throw down – Charlie was well-aware, based off of the experiences she'd had with a few wannabe bullies growing up, as well as some all-too-handsy guys on ill-fated dates – but this wasn't anything close to a schoolyard scuffle! 

She'd tried to get Vaggie to come with her, as selfish as she knew it was in her heart to leave everyone else to fend for themselves against these madmen. But the spitfire wasn't having any of it.

“ _No,_ Charlie! If you're lost, it all falls apart! You're the most important one here! And besides, I doubt any of these upper crust fools know a damn thing about self-defense. So I have to stay! Although I'd rather not...they deserve that much.” Her face had been pained, but resolute. Charlie had attempted to offer a quick hug; she couldn't stand seeing the girl look at her in such a way. 

Suddenly, the moment was ruined, by two heavily geared up males storming through the kitchen entryway they'd passed through not moments before. One more harsh shove from Vaggie, as their attention fell on the two females. “GO! **_RUN!_** ” With a strangled cry in her throat, Charlie had scrambled up the stairs, forcing herself not to look back. 

This was where she found herself now. Stumbling down the halls, completely overwhelmed by terror, as she tried desperately to remember whether her room was on the second or third floor. Her room, the room she'd called hers for as long as she'd lived. In a crisis like this, she couldn't remember _where her fucking room was - !_

And even worse...

“The steps! They said the bitch took off that way! Get the girl! That's where the money is!” Fear clenched at her heart like a clawed hand, threatening to squeeze out the life entirely. Had Vaggie...?!

 _No! You can't think about that now! She didn't do that just for you to die here! Get moving!_ As sick and horrified as she felt at the thought of losing her best friend, on top of everybody else who'd been stuck in the mansion, Charlie knew she couldn't break down here. She had to keep going. Find a safe space; one of the rooms, if only temporarily, just to catch her breath, and then...figure out something from there.

She already knew the main house line had been cut. The power was still on, but only in certain areas. Right now, directly above her, the lights were flickering dangerously. If Charlie wanted to hide, it was in her best interest to do it now, while she could still see. Panting hard, her eyes scanned around rapidly, attempting to figure out exactly what part of the manor's massive hallways she'd wound up in. Before her pursuers caught up with her.

This was logic right out of a horror movie: hiding in another room while the killer, or killers, stalked about outside. But with things the way they were at the moment, she had no other choice. Unless she wanted to try jumping out of a window, risking injury and possible death, especially if these bastards were patrolling around the premises as well. Why, **why** had her folks thought it was a good idea to build their home so far away from the nearest town or city...?!

“Ah - !” That was when she saw it: the familiar tall, wide white double doors, adorned with apples and curving, golden handles. Her Father's trademark. Only one set of doors, save from the ones at the entryways, bore that seal. Instantly, Charlie knew what she was looking at.

Her parents' old room. She hadn't been in there since...jeez, when _was_ the last time she'd been in there?

Crashing. More screaming. More shots. The voices were drawing closer. “This place is big, but there's only three floors! And we outnumber her! She can't have gone far! Keep searching, and flush her out!” In a moment, her decision had been made. Doing her best to be as quiet as possible – seriously, these doors were heavy! - Charlie had slipped inside, making sure to lock them behind her. Knowing that wouldn't be nearly enough to keep out a mini-militia, she began searching the room for any sort of furniture she could block off the entry point with, if only to create an extra obstacle when they did find her. None of the others were locked, so it wouldn't be too hard for them to figure out which spot she'd picked.

As she was in the process of moving a pair of chairs and a bedside nightstand against the doors, the lights went out. Now, she was in complete darkness. With only the sounds of the complete massacre beyond the double doors, albeit muffled, filtering into her hearing, Charlie could feel the serpentine trails of fear snaking over her entire being, crushing her under the grip of uncertainty and absolute terror.

 _This is it. There's nowhere else to run. Nothing I can do. I'm dead. We're all dead. I failed...I failed..._ She could feel the tears prickling again, at the corner of her eyes, and the tingling in her nose. Charlie raised an arm to wipe them away furiously, not caring one iota about the stains which would be inevitably left behind on her clothes. If she was going to die soon anyway, what did it matter? She'd have a lot more to worry about than just cosmetics in due time.

Her Father had called her a failure, on more than one occasion. Charlie had never considered herself cut out for big business. For as long as she could remember, she'd always wanted to help others. That was even how she'd met Vaggie; sharing her lunch when the girl had been starving, after having noticed her not eating the last few days. She hadn't even been discouraged when the girl had pushed her away, snapping that she didn't need any “pity or simpering! You rich types are all the same – I'm not your charity case t'make you feel better about yourself!” 

She'd simply smiled wider, continuing to hold out her lunch bag. “Of course not. You're a person, and everybody deserves to eat. If I have more than others, then isn't it on me to share? I think that's fair.” It was the company she'd kept, her completely unremarkable school career, and lack of motivation in regards of being a big-shot corporate manager, that labeled her a waste in her Father's eyes.

Well, now that she was meant to be in charge of the family business, this was where it had led her. So, even following his wishes, she hadn't succeeded. Either way, she was going to die a lost cause, with nothing decent to her name. Instead, she'd dragged so many others down with her tonight, by virtue of her heritage and turning another year older.

In the dark, she still managed to find her way to the foot of the large, ornate canopy bed. Sitting down carefully and drawing her legs up against her chest, tucked under her swishy skirt, Charlie rested her head against her knees, allowing the silent sobs to wrack her body. In that moment, she felt so forlorn and hopeless, insignificant. What was so great about being rich and famous, anyway? She was just an out-of-touch target.

As her heart continued to pound in her ribcage, Charlie lifted her head, blinking slowly. It was as she reached up to brush away some stray locks that fell into her blurred watery vision...

...that she saw it, just under and around the edges of the thick bookcase, situated against the farthest wall.

Light. A faint glow, but it was there. Just the slightest trace of an illuminated red hue, creeping out like a mist, a neon border in the suffocating shadows. Shaking her head and wiping her eyes fully, Charlie blinked a few more times, and even pinched herself for good measure, just to make sure she wasn't seeing things.

Nope. She wasn't. The red glow was still there.

Even in her panic, Charlie couldn't help but be curious. At this point, all of her options and resources had been exhausted. She had nowhere left to run, and death was imminent. Perhaps though, something lay behind this shelf – something that would make her end at least a little easier to accept?

Or possibly...something to turn the tables entirely?

It took quite a bit of effort, especially in the blackness, to move that damn bookcase aside. Charlie had actually, at one point, started throwing books off in bunches, in an attempt to make it lighter. Eventually however, she'd finally gotten it pulled away, enough to be able to track down the source of that unusual light. What she saw made her teary eyes widen like baseballs, and her already strained heart began skipping harder.

A door. A solid metal door, with more ornate carvings and symbols. She could just barely make out the design of her Father's own insignia, thanks to the minor brightening, but the rest...it was impossible. With bated breath, she stepped forwards, reaching out to run her hands over what should've been an icy surface.

“What...?” But instead, what greeted her fingertips and palms was pleasantly warm. As though there were a fire on the other side, though not quite hot enough to burn. As she tried to wrack her brain for an answer – something else to momentarily focus on in the middle of her life's last sequence – her right hand slipped down, to where a doorknob would've been.

An instant click of mechanisms and springs, followed by something shooting out and impaling the appendage. With a flash of white-hot heat and pain, Charlie yanked her hand back, yelping in surprise. Biting back a swear plus a few more tears, she could already feel the blood dripping down, and the edges of singed flesh. Daring a glance, the deep red hue of lifeforce, inky in the presence of no light, save for the eerie growing glow, was already staining the edges of her silken sleeve.

Wait – eerie **growing** glow?

Slowly, hesitantly at first, before gradually seeming to pick up speed, the red hue surrounding the edges of the mystery door began to intensify in its glare, stretching upwards and outwards, as though whatever was causing the light on the other side...was getting stronger. Swirling around the door like misty crimson tendrils, the glow was only rising and radiating further, and in its wake...

...came a symphony of sounds, none of which Charlie had heard the likes of before. Nor was she sure she _ever_ wanted to hear them again.

Shrieking, groaning, growling, gasping. Things that could've been human at one point, but just based on the how they made the hair on the back of her neck stand up, Charlie was absolutely certain that nothing living – in the normal sense – was lurking beyond that divider. This strange door with a defense mechanism, hidden by a bookshelf in her parents' room, of all places. Just...just how long had this been here? How long had she been unaware? Did her folks even realize this was here??

And, if they did... _why was it here in the first place?!_

Suddenly, the metal barrier flew open with a thundering boom, like it had been blown out from the inside. The hot winds rushing from its gaping entrance were enough to knock Charlie onto her rear, as she started scrambling away backwards, left arm raised to block the unearthly light that was now on full display in the confines of the room. Where once all had been dark, there was now an unsettling vermillion brilliance, accentuated by wisps of smoke upon the air, and low, guttural sounds flickering in and out of focus.

Also...static? Was that _static?_

Tentatively, Charlie lowered her arm, eyes warily cracking open. Her other hand still throbbed where it had been pierced, and she was certain that the commotion must've alerted somebody by now. Death was sure to come knocking any minute. 

But, as her vision slowly returned to her, a towering shadow began to loom over her crumpled form, standing in front of the fiery entryway looking for all the world like...like...

A king surveying his kingdom after a very long absence. Charlie's breath caught in her throat; by now, everything else had fallen away around her, and her attention was solely on the strange...being? Man? Was it a man who stood before her? If you'd asked her, right then and there, Charlie wouldn't have been able to tell you whether her heart was even still beating. All she could focus on...was the figure who stared down at her, a vision who most certainly was not of this Earth.

Tall. He was _extremely_ tall. Frighteningly so, in fact. Bathed in various crimson hues, just like the intensity behind him, with matching sharp eyes, one behind a similarly-toned monocle. His hair, thick and choppy, just above his shoulders, in that same vivid shade, with darkened ends. Atop his head were two tufts, almost...animal-like, in their shape and placement - were they _ears_ , actually?? She wouldn't have been at all surprised if so. And between then, short and spindling, were two branch-like appendages...to Charlie, they resembled antlers. His face was grey, tilted at a slight angle as he surveyed her form in silence. At least, his mouth wasn't moving. So where were those sounds all coming from, if not him...?

He was clad in attire that, at best, could only be described as something from the 1920's or '30's. A pinstripe suit with large shoulders and a bowtie, but flowing and tattered in the back at the end of the coat. Pointy-toed dress shoes and a long cane with a rounded top completed the look...

...along with his smile. Never had Charlie seen such a visage. Golden, extended fangs, in a wide mouth that was stretched up into a grin that could only begin to hint at potential promises of what this being was capable of. No, now Charlie was absolutely certain of it, as he continued to regard her with that haunting gaze, and wicked smile, head turning up just a bit more:

This man wasn't human. _**Far**_ from it. 

In a flash, he was no longer standing over her. Now, he was less than a hair's breadth away from her, invading her personal space like it was the most natural thing in the world, for them to be in such close proximity. That scratchy static sound had grown louder, drowning out whatever else was on the other side of that terrifying doorway. Before she could scream, let alone properly register her shock and fear, he had taken hold of her right arm in an iron, but not quite painful grip. 

Long, gloved fingers, but with unusually pointed ends, stroked the fabric of her sleeve, before pushing it up...to examine the blood that trailed down from the still open wound in the center of her hand. Charlie was certain she was going to have a heart attack soon, as the being leaned in close, smile continuously stretched wide. Warm breath ghosted over the injury, causing her to tremble involuntarily. He surveyed the wound for another couple of seconds, before a long tongue slipped out, and began to lap at the stains. Little spasms of tingling pain shot through her from the point of contact, but Charlie still couldn't let go of the fact that this demon-man was _so goddamn **close** to her - !_

“Haah...” He licked at his golden fangs and lips, and it was obvious by the change in his expression - without loss of smile - that he was _savoring_ the taste of her blood. The blonde was about ready to faint. Well, give it a few more minutes, and there'd be plenty more where that came from...if he just didn't decide to off her first, right then and there. Would it be as bad as having her throat slit, or being riddled full of bullet holes? Like she really knew.

In the midst of all the chaos, and the end of her life on the other side of the bedroom doors...Charlie Magne had somehow, someway, summoned a creature from behind a secret entryway that should've never been opened, or even discovered. A monster she couldn't ever have conjured up, in all her wildest nightmares. 

Now, the question was: who – or _**what**_ \- would kill her first?


	2. I Can't Decide, Whether...No, No You Should Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The hostiles of humanity, facing off against the horrors of Hell. Charlie opened the box - erm, door, and it's anyone's guess how this'll end...beyond the bloodshed, at least.

At this moment in time, with her circumstances having been suddenly spun around for a 180 without any sort of consent from the start, Charlie's sanity – or what was left of it – was just about ready to commit suicide. From outside, the sounds of the massacre continued to filter in, but they were softer now, being warped entirely upon the current of static that was pervading her hearing. This _thing_ , he was so close to her and her being, looking for all the world like he'd just discovered the secret of life itself...and wasn't willing to share.

Some sort of twisted, ecstatic glee, etched into his features by the gleam in his eyes, and to his golden fangs, still bared in that ever-present smile. His fixation on her was so intense, but for all she'd been through, Charlie couldn't find it in her to be nearly as scared as she should've been. At least, not for the obvious reasons. Really, whether it was at the hands – erm, claws? Teeth? - of this madman, or at the mercy of the terrorists crashing her unwanted party outside, she was done like dinner. It was just a matter of who was faster at dealing the final blow. Like she could afford to actually have a preference for the method of disposal by this point.

However...that didn't mean she had no questions. Or, that she was willing to go down without having attempted some sort of fight.

“Let me _go_ \- !” With whatever strength she had left, riding on her remaining adrenaline rush, Charlie managed to flail and fumble her way out of the creature's grasp, though he didn't seem quite so eager to hold her in place, either. As she scurried back towards the bed on hands and knees, forcing herself to ignore the pain that continued to shoot up her right arm, a loud, crackling, jovial laugh rang out behind her. It was enough to jolt her into a standing position, just by virtue of it being so sharp and distinct in its pitch. 

Turning around slowly on wobbling legs, still tired from the earlier paces she'd put them through, Charlie was now face-to-face with the red devil. His laugh had tapered off into a chuckle, though the sound still set her nerves on edge. Eyeing him warily, Charlie could only wait for him to make the next move; as freaky as the situation was, she wasn't exactly willing to just throw herself back outside into the waiting arms of her assailants. She could at least humor this... _creature_ , and find out what the heck he was doing in her parents' bedroom.

By now, the male was running a hand through his fluffy – wait, **fluffy?** Why was she describing it as such? - locks, walking right back up to her without missing a beat. Unless Charlie wanted to fall onto the bed, she had to stay put. His red eyes were surveying her with all the amusement and mirth, as this time, he addressed her with actual words. Yes, the being could _speak_.

“Oh, goodness! That was a hoot and a half! Why, I haven't tasted blood that delicious since, well...heh heh - my, it's been a while!” His voice...it was like listening to something from an era gone by, complete with hints of tuning. That _wasn't_ natural, either. Charlie could feel the color draining from her face as the male allowed his gaze to travel around the darkened, messy room. “Hm-hm! What's this? I seem to be...no longer in my confinements, as well! Ha, what a wonderful surprise! Gifts and drinks? I couldn't ask for a better reception!” 

He was so...so cheerful and animated, as if he hadn't just sprang up out of...well, nowhere, for all Charlie was concerned, drinking her blood in contentment like a cat would milk. Talking about 'confinements' and 'receptions', like this was some sort of welcome home celebration, or - !

“I do have to wonder, though...” And at this, Charlie almost let out her own ungodly screech; the male was now less than an inch away from her face, breath fanning over her cheeks, hair practically tickling her skin. The slight tang of metal lingered in her nose. “...how _**was**_ I able to return here?” 

His eyes flashed, as carefully, he drew back, now smirking more than grinning at a flustered, frightened, and all-around confused Charlie. Spinning on his heel, the man had his back turned to her, staff stretched out to one side while his other hand was, most likely cupping his chin in thought. Without waiting for any sort of prompting, he continued on.

“Yes, that latch, that pesky latch – it triggers to allow passage into those former confines of mine. To make sure the proper price is paid, for one choosing entry into such a...dismal setting.” His head craned over his shoulder just so then, but the angle at which it did still struck Charlie as terribly unnatural. That fascination and elation to his features as he regarded her was extremely unsettling. Just what, exactly, was he trying to get at here?

A tap of his cane against the floor. “Testing, testing! One-two-three! Is this thing on? Ha ha!” Bringing the head of it up close, Charlie felt her heart skip as, without warning, something opened up on the flat side facing him: an eye. Glowing in another familiar reddish hue, it allowed Charlie to take note that, what she'd first thought to be just a walking stick...

...was in fact, a microphone. 

“Yes, yes, we can hear you! Being in the slammer doesn't do you many favors, but you're still coming through loud and clear!” A smattering of soft applause then. An old-fashioned, and seemingly sentient microphone, at that. Satisfied at the answer, the creature slowly turned back around, to face his unwitting impromptu audience. Charlie had no idea how to respond to his stare, but it was fine, since he simply picked right back up where he'd left off a few moments earlier.

“You see...blood is a requirement, in breaking on through, to the other side, via an entry such as this one. This isn't a mere portal, but a direct path.” Everything about him, in the unearthly lighting, appeared to stretch and raise before her, making Charlie feel for all the world as though she were merely an inch tall. 

“ _ **But.**_ ” The emphasis on that lone word made Charlie's stomach twist. She was still baffled at what this man was rambling on about – eloquently in diction, nothing else. “Blood on its own bears no ability to go any further. Only the blood of the captor – the **jailer** themselves, if you will, heh...is suited for that. To undo those ridiculous binds that _**he**_ had me under, for so very long. Far too long, indeed.” More pointed accentuation on those specific words, causing the unease to rise through her body like a wave on the water. 

Tap, tap, tap. The static was buzzing around them, the little eye on the mic narrowing at his actions, but no retorts coming forth. The speaker's attention was focused on Charlie alone. “Dear girl...I daresay, for a mortal...you're _quite **enchanting**._ Just how, exactly, did you come across this entrance? Directly connected to this world, of silly little humans – oh, how quaint it all seems now!” Another chuckle. Charlie still wasn't sure what he was trying to get at. “To think, _I_ once walked in their footsteps, carving out a life I was so keen on keeping above...when really, things were _so_ much more opportune down below.”

With a flourish, he pointed his prop at her. The static was beginning to rise, along with Charlie's panic. “Young Miss, it seems as though your blood...bears some unique attributes to it! Perhaps, you are familiar with the one, who left me down there, in my confinement...threatened by my success in his kingdom of calamity, as naught but a burdened soul.” Yet another chuckle, though this one was laced with a twinge of bitterness. “Who could fathom, that he would go so far in his desire for reach - much less that, under _these_ circumstances, I would be freed. The one who so _**despised**_ humanity, bringing forth one of his own, in their own realm.”

Charlie couldn't even begin to keep up with his bizarre ravings. And, at that moment, she wouldn't have to worry about such, either. A sudden series of violent pounding rang out against the barricaded doorway, causing her to jump about a foot in the air. Angry, heated voices were gathered outside, and the fear of one unexplainable situation was immediately replaced by another, as she was now scrambling to find something, anything else to block off the entryway with.

“She's in here! The fucking door's locked, or whatever! Blow it off the hinges! Haul her out!” With a panicked cry, Charlie found herself looking back towards the mysterious visitor, pain and fear written into her features as she fitfully attempted to pull the displaced bookcase in front of the few pieces of furniture making up her barricade.

Charlie knew it was a stupid idea. What kind of monster would really give a shit about her situation? Even an ordinary outside observer wouldn't want to get involved in something so risky! But, if he hadn't ripped her head off as of yet, then maybe, just **maybe** , she could reason with him. “Please! I-I-I don't know what's going on, but I'm – I'm in real trouble here! Something, anything, I d-don't know what, but if you can help, I beg you – _please do!_ ” 

Apparently, the men outside had heard her speak, because now the yells and aggressive pounding were getting worse. “Break down the door now! Gimme that thing!” He didn't respond to her pleas, nor to the crowd outside. He simply continued to stare, in that frightful, silently fixated manner...

“YEEK!” And just like that, it was over. With a resounding, thunderous bang, the double doors went flying, sending the poorly gathered pieces of furniture with them. Charlie nearly got clocked square in the head with a chunk of debris, and wound up instead diving to the floor, face down as the tremor eased, and the smell of explosive smoke lingered in the air. Coughing on the fumes, she could already hear the raucous calls and marching boots storming in, and had to force herself back up, if only to be on her feet once the men found her.

This was it. This was the end. Charlie had no weapons to her name, no fighting skills or prowess. She had no idea what was going on in the rest of the house, whether Vaggie, or any of the other guests, were alive or dead. And this...this stranger here, from God only knows where, wasn't willing to offer her any assistance, either - 

Sparing a quick glance behind her, now that the room was illuminated by multiple flashlights, Charlie felt her heart sink: the metal door was closed tight, and almost invisible now. The red glow that had been seeping out before was extinguished, and there was no trace of the crimson-clad male who, just a minute before, had been talking her ear off about humans and demons like there was no tomorrow.

It was a group of five who had made their way into the room, and were now surrounding Charlie where she stood. Geared up in battlefield armor and weaponry, they surveyed her triumphantly, like hunters cornering prey. Charlie refused to kowtow before them, even as every part of her being wanted to break down and bawl once more. It wouldn't do her any good to beg. They weren't going to listen if she was just nice about it. Whatever they were here for, they were going to find a way to get it, somehow.

“Well, well, _well_. Look what the cat dragged in.” One of the men was walking up to her, massive rifle clutched in his hands as he planted himself before her person, sneering as he took in her weary, battered form. “We got lucky that you stupid hoity-toity types didn't bother securing this place enough, let alone after the head _fuck_ decided to cut and run.” So, they had known about her parents going missing. “What better time to get what belongs to us than now, huh?”

As scared as she was, and no matter her personal familial relationships, Charlie couldn't help but bristle at those comments. Daring to look the man in the eye, she stood to her full height, shorter and shaking though she may've been. “My _**Father**_ worked hard for his legacy. It _doesn't_ belong to _any_ of you.” Even as her voice trembled, her words were clear, laced with punctuated venom, and Charlie was grateful that she hadn't stuttered this time around. 

The male's eyes widened, eyebrows raising, as if disbelieving that someone would be bold enough to talk back to him, even when everything seemed to be aligned in their favor. The energy was charged around them. She knew what was coming, as his teeth grit in rage, and his arms swung back. 

**Wham.** The butt of the rifle collided cleanly with the side of her face, snapping her jaw upwards as she staggered back, into the shelf she'd been fighting with earlier. Charlie had very nearly bitten through her tongue, but even if she was seeing stars now, with the taste of blood from a split lip permeating her mouth, at least she'd held back the cry that would've given even more undeserved satisfaction to these creeps. Wherever she was, hopefully Vaggie would be proud of her for that one. 

“Uppity little _whore!_ Don't worry, wherever the hell he went you'll be joining him soon enough!” Stomping forwards, he grabbed Charlie by her long, loose locks and yanked her towards him. “Once you give us what we're looking for, it'll be six feet under for you!” Leaning in close, he leered at her from under the visor of his helmet. “It's up to you how smoothly ya want that t'all go, though. Whether it's a bullet to the brain, or...” 

Charlie didn't like the way he was looking her up and down now, as though just realizing what she actually was. She knew that stare. Beyond bearing a hefty price tag on her head, she was female. Whatever they chose to do with her, she had no chance of stopping them. 

But, no matter how much it hurt...she couldn't rest if she knew she'd made it too easy for them. 

So, lifting her head up and drawing back just so, Charlie proceeded to spit at his face. That was all it took. With a yell, he threw her to the ground. She smacked into the side of the bookcase and toppled over. Although it smarted, there was an undercurrent of spiteful pride; that, despite these guys having the upper hand in every other way, she could still get under their skin. 

“Fuck you, bitch!” The others were closing in around them, as he made another grab towards her. His next words, and the shifting of his gathered comrades left nothing to the imagination. “We'll see who's laughing when we're done with you! Put that mouth o'yours to better use, and fucking _**choke**_ on it!” Charlie kicked out, wishing for all the world that she'd at least worn pants. Her left hand had found a book on the floor, and proceeded to throw that too, though it didn't connect. She could feel fingers gripping at her clothes, holding her limbs in place, weight bearing down upon her, a scream rising up in her throat -

Suddenly, the air seemed to chill. An immediate drop in degree, just as a long, low chuckle filtered through the expanse. Charlie recognized that voice immediately, but still felt the shudder course through her body. It sounded _far_ more ominous now than ever before.

At the same time, one of the other grunts let out a yell, swinging his flashlight to the right. “The hell - ?!” His buddies followed suit, and all eyes were now trained on the corner. Charlie felt her breath hitch. There, in all his fearsome, unconventional glory...

...stood the monstrous man in red.

It took a few seconds for his presence to register with the gathered crowd. Recalling her own reaction at seeing him upon first glance, Charlie, even in her dizzy, battered state, could only begin to imagine how these self-proclaimed 'tough guys' would handle him. For all she knew...maybe he just looked weird? Perhaps that doorway _hadn't_ led to anywhere truly off the wall, and her imagination was just running away with her? Maybe he _was_ a family friend, or a secret employee, and she'd somehow disturbed him...

...and now, he was going to die, right along with her. This crazy man was in just as much trouble as she. Right now, with her senses thrown into chaos, Charlie didn't know what she believed anymore.

“Get a load o' **this** fucking guy!” Laughter was beginning to fill the room, as the group of thugs were taking in the lanky male like bullies on the playground. The first to alert everyone of his presence was now jabbing at him with the front of his gun, walking right up and waving a hand directly in front of his face. “Oi boss, this whole family's full of nutcases, eh?”

Another of the five gathered was shining his light directly into his face; Charlie took note, through squinting vision, how it reflected off of his grin, and his monocle, and even his eyes...and how the beams in his direction really didn't seem to perturb him at all. He didn't even flinch from the glare. “What the hell you all dressed up for, huh? This ain't Halloween! You some kinda butler or something?”

Letting out an aggravated growl, the man crouching over her waved a hand dismissively. “I don't care _what_ he is! No witnesses! Unless he got any other use like the girlie here, then off him and be done with it!” His focus returned to Charlie, as the guns cocked around them. “We ain't puttin' on a show for no one!” 

The blonde didn't even know this guy's name, let alone whether or not he was even human. All signs pointed to 'no', but even if he wasn't...a bullet was a bullet. And, as far as she could see, he had no weapons on him. In her eyes, that left him just as vulnerable as her. To whatever of him she could make out from around her captor, Charlie cried out.

“H-Hey! He doesn't – he doesn't have anything to do with this! Just let him go! I'm the one you want, right?!” One eye caught hers in the harsh shine, and she did the best she could, to convey her intent through what he could see of her stare. _Get out of here! Don't worry about me! These guys aren't joking! Find some way to escape, before they -_

That cheerfully cold chuckle, rising above like a signal gradually coming into focus. Almost like...adjusting a radio? As cocky as the assembled assailants might have been, all were silent at the sound. Charlie realized then, that not only could she no longer see the stranger's face...

...she couldn't see much of anything at all. One by one, the flashlights were burning out, causing soft sounds of confusion to bubble forth from the grunts. Replacing the artificial light source, however...was that same warped scarlet glow from before. But this time...

...it was emanating from _**him.**_

“You know...” The shadows around his form stretched ever further upwards, like black flames in that inhuman radiance. “The young lady and I were having quite the nice discussion...when you chaps so _rudely_ interrupted us.” The air was cold as ice, as though they'd gone from bedroom to walk-in freezer. Charlie could feel herself starting to shiver; her skin was prickled with goosebumps. It wasn't just from the temperature, however. The entire aura surrounding this room...it was charged, with something absolutely **awful.** As her tormentor shifted, sitting up to try and get a better grasp of things and find out why his men weren't moving - 

“AUGH!” It happened without warning. The man closest to the red-clad being, was suddenly struck dead-center in his abdomen, and hoisted into the air like a skewer. His gun went flying, as his limbs dangled uselessly about him. He was trying so hard, to grab something, whatever it was that had caught him directly in his gut. Bruised eyes widening in horror, Charlie realized that what had pierced cleanly through, sticking out of his back and twitching in the air, shimmering with blood...were the long, sharp fingers of the crimson creature.

He'd just _stabbed_ a man, and lifted him above his head, _**with his bare hand.**_ Charlie watched, in muted terror, as he spun around with a little hum, still holding the male above him like a trophy. The men closest practically jumped back, as though they'd been burned. Obviously, there was blood being showered here. Seeming to strike a pose, the imposing, _definitely- **not** -a-human now_ being began to carefully turn his head. Further and further, until with a loud, unnatural crack, he was looking over his shoulder directly at everybody watching. The look on his face was one of disturbed glee.

“I... _ **don't**_ like to be interrupted.”

Pandemonium broke out from there. Flinging the body on his hand with one motion – releasing organ and bone as he did so - the figure had leapt, or maybe even vanished, upwards into the air, at the exact moment the one in charge had whirled around, issuing the orders to the rest assembled. “Shoot that fucker down!” Charlie had been all but forgotten, as now the remaining four males were entirely focused on the madman that had just killed one of their own in less than two seconds. 

The corpse had landed on the floor, not far from the blonde with a squelching thud, right as the bullets had begun to unload. Yelping at both the disgusting sight plus the loudness, both in such close proximity, Charlie ducked down, covering her ears the best she could as she attempted to crawl away. She had to seek some sort of safety, which came in the form of the lopsided bookshelf. It was an absolute free-for-all, as shells were scattered all about her parents boudoir. Feathers were flying, glass was cracking – and, from what she could tell, not a damn shot was doing anything to slow their target down. 

By this point, he was settled back into place, this time directly in front of the blown out doorway. Not a single round had caught him, as he'd been zipping about the room like a moving target with ridiculous reflexes. Cracking a few joints as he stood there, limbs bending at awkward angles, it was obvious that the head honcho was getting pissed. 

“It's a goddamn bedroom, and he's just one guy! _**Dust 'em!**_ ” Before anything else could be said, he was already rushing forwards, unloading clips into the stationary figure. His laughter was maniacal as he shook from the force. Now, bullet after bullet tore through his body, and this time, Charlie did scream, from her place on the floor. There was no way. Absolutely _no way,_ that anyone could still be alive after a direct barrage like that - !

“Heh...heh heh heh...” Just as the silence had begun to creep in, that familiar chuckle had started up once more. Although he was bent forwards, leaning heavily on his mic-cane, he hadn't yet fallen over. With another few cracks, he had righted himself back to a standing position. The glare radiating from him, along with his presence in general, was fearsome, and his smile did nothing to hide it. One by one, the dull sound of spent shells hitting the carpet filled the air, along with a slow sizzling hiss. 

Charlie already knew what was happening, even before the men gathered had begun to curse, out of fear or rage, maybe both. She could see it for herself: his wounds were healing. They. Were. _Healing._ Inky, winding black tendrils were wrapping about and around him, as though stitching the flesh back together. Who knew how many bullets the trigger-happy creep had pumped into him, she hadn't been counting! What mattered was that not a one had done a thing to stop him...

...and he was just getting _**started.**_

“Mmm...my my, tough crowd tonight! It's been a while since I've had a chance to let loose like this...figured I'd give you boys a fair 'shot' at me, ha-ha!” How could he make jokes at a time like this, let alone with such an unaffected, chipper tone?! 

A flash of red, and an ominous creak. In an instant, that light-hearted voice had lowered, to a taunting growl. “But now... _now,_ it's my turn. And I intend to put on _**quite**_ the show.”

Then, he vanished. Just, disappeared. Once again, as though the shadows themselves had swallowed him up. Like he were some sort of magician playing a trick, a sleight of hand with his whole body. A murmur of panic was rippling through the gang, as they were looking about them and above them hurriedly. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't a part of the deal they'd signed up for! They were here to leave a few bodies, and a good ton richer, too! Not to play hide-and-seek with this...whatever he might've been! One of the men was bold enough to voice this opinion, as he whirled around to face his leader.

“Shit, **screw** this! Just grab the girl, and let's - ”

He didn't get to finish that statement. A crimson streak materialized up against him from behind, having risen smoothly from the floor. Before he could react, his arms were bound at his sides in a winding pinstriped grip, gun dropping to his feet with a clatter. An open mouth full of jagged, golden fangs had already sunk themselves deep into the side of his neck, tearing through fabric and flesh alike. He could only let out a wet gurgle, as the monster inhaled, and pulled away harshly, tearing off the top half from his shoulder up with accentuated snapping and ripping. The man's head wobbled on what was left of his neck, before falling forwards. 

“Hmm...” The male was chewing – actually _chewing_ , on the massive chunk of flesh he'd ripped out from the body below. The sound, never mind the visuals, was enough to make Charlie want to hurl. A cannibal, too?? He seemed to be taking his time, appearing thoughtful as he finally swallowed. A couple smacks of the lips and tongue. 

“Needs more spice.” With a spit towards the ground – a piece of wet, wadded up various materials landed in its wake – he proceeded to dissolve into the air.

At least, that's how it would've appeared to the untrained eye. Okay, Charlie wasn't trained, but for whatever reason, she could see it now: his shadow. Upon disappearing from view, it slid right up against the wall, traveling along until it reached the ceiling, and then swirled into place...

“He's not human! We gotta get outta here!” Two of the remaining three men weren't taking any more chances here. They were already stumbling for the blown-out doorway, even as their boss was hollering at them to “Get back here, ya yellow-bellied cocksuckers! Before I kill you myself!” He'd already made his way to Charlie, hoisting her on her feet unceremoniously with a yank of the arm. It just **had** to be her right arm, too. After seeing everything she had so far tonight however, that wound was beginning to feel mighty insignificant. Hell, even a bullet or two didn't sound so bad now...not after witnessing what that apparition could do. 

Before either of them were able to make it over the debris and out into the hallway however, it had happened. The murky shadow from up above had dropped down without warning, forming into that crimson-clad entity. He tore straight through with a razor-clawed gloved hand, directly into the back of the man closest to him, and out towards the ground. It was enough to pierce the armor he wore, as well as snap the spine...

...which began to bend, at such an unsettling angle. The man gasped and whimpered, as the weaponized appendage began to tug, on what appeared to be...innards, trailing out as he fell to his knees. His companion had seen this, daring to look back if only for one moment. In his throes of death, he reached out weakly, trembling, begging silently for some sort of support which his teammate couldn't, and wouldn't give. In a second, he spun around, ready to dive over the broken barrier - 

“Ah-ah-ah! No refunds!” Lowering his head with a gleam in his eye, Charlie saw that he had those – those things, what she'd thought were 'antlers', pressed against his current target's bleeding back. With a wink of luminescent - and _**spinning??**_ \- vermillion eyes, they glowed for but a second before suddenly extending with a crackling groan. The first male couldn't utter a word, as they stabbed through his torso, skewering his heart and forcing it from his chest. 

The second certainly let out some sort of sound though, as they caught him at all odd angles. It looked God-awful. One was in his throat, which did explain the strange vocals. Carefully, rising to a standing position, with all of these bodies hanging from his own unnatural additions, the being let out a little giggle. The man in front twitched weakly though, apparently still alive even after all of that. 

Making a 'tsk'ing sound, the stranger waggled a finger. “Oh dear, see? I've lost my touch. Mmm – _there!_ ” Shutting his eyes tightly, and gritting his teeth in that deep grin, there was a pop and a crunch, as a smaller branch extended from the one through his victim's neck, immediately wedging itself into the skull as well...and out his left eye socket. “ _Much_ better! I do aim to please, after all!”

With a sound akin to a flurry of swords being sheathed, all of the...antlers? Whatever they were, retracted in a single movement, from where they were imbedded inside the last two targets. The bodies fell to the floor unceremoniously, and Charlie realized, as the final remaining thug of the group grabbed her close, rifle aiming for her temple...

...they were the only ones left. Her, an innocent bystander, thrust into the spotlight thanks to her family name and affairs, sandwiched between a desperate terrorist, and something akin to an Eldritch abomination. She already knew that the former would kill her, whether or not he got what he wanted. But the latter...what did he want?

Whatever it was, Charlie knew she had better figure it out, and now, because the being had finished dusting himself off, and was focused entirely on them. In particular, his intense gaze was locked directly with her own...and Charlie had no idea what sorts of thoughts could've been hiding behind those eyes, after all she'd seen. Good, bad, neutral? Or a mix, something else entirely?

Once more, that chuckle. “Now, my good man, I _do_ believe...you have something which _belongs_ to _**me**_.” His eyes were still trained on her fiercely. Charlie felt her heart thud hard against her ribs. No way. Was he...

The frantic assailant flipped him off mockingly, even as sweat poured down his face, and his grip shook, both on her and his gun. “Yeah? What, you fucking psycho? I ain't got shit for you, 'cept a bullet with your name on it, and my foot up your ass!” At this, the creature let out a hearty laugh. 

“Oh, heavens no! You certainly have some interesting tastes, don't you?” Another chuckle. “But no, my wants are far simpler. All I ask...” Charlie could practically hear her heart pounding; she was surprised nobody else could hear it too, as a clawed finger extended, to point directly at her. 

“...is for the young lady you have there.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...Alastor is a BAMF. 'nuff said.
> 
> And SO, that ends Chapter Two! Things are just kinda flying along at a breakneck pace here - it's not going TOO fast, is it? I've...never actually started a story before with such a kick outta the front gates, & well...I worry that maybe, I'm overdoing it? That I'm not providing enough detail or description; that certain things should be focused or elaborated on more? 
> 
> Also, characterization. I know we've only got the pilot, & this IS an AU...but even then, I'm not trying to steamroll over canon. I think I've mentioned this before, but I want things to be familiar yet fresh? Maybe not those exact words, but yeah. I still want everybody & the show's universe to be recognizable, even with the fact that this is an AU. If nobody is recognizable...then, that's a BIG problem on my end.
> 
> To me, based off what I've interpreted from the pilot...Alastor is really, really, REALLY strong. I don't think we've even begun to see what he's capable of. I guess...I took a few creative liberties here, & gave him a little more room to stretch & play? At the same time, this is only the beginning; there's a WHOLE lotta story left to tell. And, as he mentioned here...he's still a bit rusty from being cooped up for so long. I wanted to give a taste of possibilities, without going overboard...though I cannot deny, I LOVE me a good ol' fashioned ass-whooping. Just...hopefully, the way it played out, was believable for someone like him? 
> 
> I've seen SO many various interpretations on his methods of disposal, both as a demon & a human, as well as the little nods in canon as to how certain aspects of him might change/react to his full power manifesting. Going through all that, picking & choosing what I felt fit, & then throwing into a blender with a whole PLAYLIST devoted to him...& then pressing 'puree'. Also, a love of horror movies. That's what this is. 😅😆💕
> 
> And Charlie! I know, she's not quite kicking ass & taking names here, but even if she IS supposed to kinda be the 'sheltered little rich girl', I kept in mind, Charlie's both got heart, & tenacity. No matter what, she never gives up. And, even if the odds aren't in her favor [like here], I couldn't see her just rolling over to play dead. Whether or not it hurt more, she would NOT make it easy for these creeps, or satisfying.
> 
> Anyways...yeah. Hopefully, this second Chapter was worth the wait. I apologize if graphic gore isn't your thing...though, I mean...I DID tag for it? 😅 It seems like so far, people are enjoying what I've posted so far, & I really hope this Chapter is a winner, too. I'm no pro, but I DO aim to please. 
> 
> Until next time everyone, take care & be safe. ❤️


	3. You Ain't Never Had A Friend Like Me...Run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Upon deigning to trust in the supernatural, scarlet sadist, Charlie can only hope she's made the right choice...for everyone's sakes. Or perhaps, the taste of strawberries still lingers in her veins...

The seconds were ticking by, falling like grains in an hourglass. Charlie could very well feel them, with every pound of her incessant heart. She was barely daring to breathe, having now found herself at the center of a new standoff: firstly, clutched in the tense, sweaty grip of a frenzied criminal. He was certainly going to do away with her once he'd gotten what he and his cronies had come for. There was no hope waiting for her at his hands. Only another bullet in the barrel, possibly a knife to her jugular, or weaving through her innards.

On the other side of things, however...

...there was _him._ The nightmarish, scarlet-hued executioner from another realm, who had single-handedly done away with her captor's underlings in naught but a few heated minutes. Now, he was standing before them, that same electrifying gaze and golden grin trained in their direction...and in particular, upon her trembling form. She was trying to hide her shivers, but she was certain, with how attuned his senses were, and how keenly he stared, that she was fighting a losing battle. If anything, she'd attempt to keep her nerves steady, to avoid giving the brute beside her any sort of satisfaction.

This hellish, one-man army had specifically uttered aloud, just a few moments earlier – or possibly longer than that – his remaining intentions in this showdown: he wanted _**her.**_ Whatever his purpose with her entailed, Charlie could only begin to imagine. Before the crooks had blown the doors in, he'd been going on and on about being confined, imprisoned, and how she, in particular, by virtue of being in the right – or wrong? - place, at the right, or _really_ wrong time, had something to do with his sudden apparent freedom. Her, discovering that secret door behind the bookshelf in her parents' former personal quarters. 

Did he...want to continue discussing that previous line of nonsensical dialogue? Or...was he planning to simply consume her too, once she was in his clutches? Was he merely saving her for last? He'd killed those four men without hesitation or mercy. Who was to say he wouldn't do the same to her, following his dispatch of this last remaining antagonist? Because she was absolutely certain, if only of one thing, that this conflict was going to result in at least one more body. 

This monster was a cold-blooded hunter, released from the deepest bowels of some hellish otherworld. But, her tormentor was a cold-blooded mercenary on a mission. He'd either get his prize, or die trying after causing as much damage as possible. Given how he and his crew had stormed the mansion prior...yeah, emphasis on _'much damage'._ Who knew if anybody was still alive out there...

...and, if this crimson creature were to escape the confines of this room...would he pick up where the anti-soldier had left off?

By this point, her assailant had had enough. He was already aiming his rifle at the being, cracking a cocky, albeit anxious grin. “Like **hell** I'd give up here and now! This little twat is my ticket outta the shitter, and into the high life! Her folks up and left the whole scene, and now it's in her hands! It was the _perfect_ opportunity, the best laid plan!” He spat at the ground – oh, gross. It had nearly landed on Charlie's shoe. Why was she bothered by this? “We been waitin' for that pompous fuck to slip up – sick of watchin' him and this goddamn company add to their body count! That money don't belong to someone like him!”

He cocked the weapon, ready to unload at any moment. “Once I get what's mine, I'm outta here! This bitch can rot in the grave with her fucking folks, and you too, since you decided to show up and get in my way!” He was seeing red, and not just in a literal sense. “You **murdered** them – those were some of my best men! My brothers! I assembled them just for this gig! And you sick bastard – you tore them apart like fucking _straw!_ ” Huh...so even guys like him had some sort of compassion and morals. 

“But...I guess, you did me a favor, in the end. Means less people I gotta share with. So, thanks. You fucking **freak.** ” He was nearly insane with his greed and bloodlust. “That'll be the last thing you ever do.”

His target in question, however...was still so eerily calm, even with that demented gleam in his eyes. All he seemed to see, was her. It was as though every word the thug uttered was going in one ear and out the other...wherever they might've been. His voice was low and smooth, sending a fresh shiver down Charlie's spine, as he finally addressed her. Interestingly, the crackling static did not linger on his words this time around. Every word was crystal-clear, and it was thoroughly creepy.

“Girl. I never did ask...what is your name?” Charlie felt her heart thud painfully in her chest. Why now, of all times, was he asking such a thing?? This wasn't the place for an introduction! On top of that, if he really were going to kill her after this was over, why did he care?!

It was obvious that her tormentor did not take kindly to being ignored. “Oi, you fucking chucklehead! Who gives a shit?! You're dead meat anyway!” With that, he fired a shot, straight on towards the stranger. Charlie let out a shriek, this time being so ridiculously close to the gunfire and its kick. She couldn't help but shout, “Stop it - !”

Before the man could retort however, be it verbally or physical, the male before them, in a split second – too fast for the eye to pinpoint – easily sidestepped the round, and was now closer by a few steps. His cool outer demeanor hadn't changed; his smile was still in place, unwavering. Once more, he spoke. “I asked you a question, Miss. **What** is your name?” If this weren't such an absurd situation, and he hadn't been so abnormal...this could've actually been quite awkwardly charming. 

As it stood though, all Charlie could do was gape, nerves jumbling in her throat as her captor let out another roar. “Don't mock me, you cum-stain!” Again, he pulled the trigger. And again, just like clockwork, the being slipped through, as if made of smoke and shadows. Now, he was noticeably closer...and still, his eyes were trained on Charlie. 

She could feel her pulse racing – no, everything was on a mad dash throughout her entire person, as he fixed her once more with that dark, questioning stare. It was...almost hypnotizing, the way his crimson eyes seemed to flicker. She couldn't tear her eyes away, and somehow...her voice was clawing its way up her throat, dying to cry out. 

“I'll ask you, **one. More. Time. _What. Is your name._** ” This time, it wasn't a request. His tone was dangerously authoritative, almost a guttural purr. Charlie felt it all slip away then – her last shred of restraint. Attempting to push forwards against her human restrictor, she allowed her answer to burst forth, like a bird in flight.

“Ch-Charlie! Charlie Magne! I'm Charlie Magne!”

Instantly, it was as though a switch had been flipped. She could hear the mercenary yelling at her again, yelling at the madman, but it was at a distance – before he could reprimand her, she was being whisked away. She could feel the distinct sensation, of practically floating across the ground, being embraced by something light and silky, yet solid enough to hold her weight and keep her from any other movement. Her jaw dropped, as her vision settled, once she'd reached a space against the wall; in fact, it was the very wall where the mysterious door lay. 

_**Shadows.**_ She was engulfed by twisting, ebony tendrils, that writhed about her before gradually unraveling themselves from her body. With a flourish, they reformed before her stunned eyes, into a shape she was all too familiar with by now: the vermillion anti-hero. At this point in time, that was the best way she could think of to describe him, seeing as he hadn't hurt her – yet – and had, if nothing else, wrenched her away from that other murderer. 

Yes, she was honestly weighing her options between two killers...and deciding she'd rather take her chances with the one of decidedly supernatural origin, than the one amped up on testosterone, revenge, and dollar signs. What even was her remaining life right now.

With a wink, the living shadow proceeded to slither away in a flash, rejoining its owner. He stood proudly before his brutish target, one hand wrapped around the barrel of his gun. No matter how he struggled to wrest it free, the demon's grip didn't budge.

Yes... _ **demon.**_ That was a perfect way to describe this wild card. He was a demon, pure and simple.

“You – You mother _fucker - !_ ” Fumbling at his side with a gloved hand, he had apparently given up on his rifle for the time being, and was instead focused on another way to get him to release it. Letting out a triumphant shout, he produced a large hunting knife from his side, attempting to strike at the stationary figure.

It didn't work. With a single, swift yank and a swish of his coat, the gun was fully in his hands, and the crook was left slashing at air. Stumbling to find his balance, he was greeted with one clean shoe, square to the chest. Although he appeared lean, the kick was enough to send the criminal reeling onto the floor, coughing and gasping for breath. The knife flew out of his grasp, landing somewhere in the vast wasteland of what was left of the boudoir. 

“Ah...ah-'hack'! S-Shit...you son of a...” His groaning swears were silenced immediately, as another foot came down forcefully on his left arm, pinning it at the elbow. Letting out a howl, the mock warrior was roughly hoisted by his short, messy locks, at an uncomfortable angle now thanks to the man in red. He was smiling so hungrily, as he brought the tip of his weapon to his lips. Pulling harder, Charlie winced as she heard the snap of bone. Another screech of pain from his victim, that only served to brighten the devilish mirth in his merciless gaze.

Tilting his head as he regarded the wannabe terrorist with a devious smirk, he began to trace the outline of his mouth with the gun tip. “Hmm...you know, I certainly can't claim to be anything close to a saint.” A soft chuckle, as he let out an exaggerated sigh. “ _However..._ ”

A rough yank backwards, as the male's head was now being shoved into his neck. “Even _I_ have standards. And a true gentleman _**always**_ knows how to behave himself around a lady.” Charlie felt her pulse skip so hard, she wouldn't have been surprised if she wound up with a broken rib or two. That heart attack just had to be around the corner, any minute now! He was...standing up for her? This monstrous man, considered himself a gentleman, and was...retaliating, almost as though it was in **her** honor?

Oh, but he wasn't quite finished toying with his prey just yet. Not even close. “Open wi~ide,” he sang, and with his other hand, grabbed hold of the mercenary's jaw, forcing it open with a violent, crunching squeeze. This anti-soldier, so confident and assured just a few minutes ago, was now whimpering like a whipped dog in the grip of this psychotic paranormal entity. Humming cheerfully to himself, he proceeded to prop up the front of the rifle -

-and then, with a sickening shove and gagging, crammed it into the male's mouth. Then, releasing his grasp on his face, and removing his foot from his now limp arm, the demon kicked him behind the knees, into a kneeling position...continuing to cram the barrel, as far as it would go, down his target's throat. The man was obviously choking; Charlie could feel her stomach turn, as trails of spit and other fluids ran down the sides of the rifle front. 

“There we go... **brilliant!** ” He was surveying the man's crippled, defeated state as though he were an exquisite exhibit in a museum. Leaning down slowly, he growled into his victim's ear. “As you yourself said before... _**“Put that mouth of yours to better use, and choke on it.”**_ ” 

Charlie couldn't quite believe what she was witnessing here. For whatever reason, hearing this being turn her tormentor's own words against him...was she just sweating from the adrenaline rush? Did that help to explain the sudden burning in her cheeks, and the rush of butterflies up her abdomen? “Quite the turn of phrase there; usually, I try not to be so **vulgar** , but...”

Another chuckle, another flash of the eyes, and...again, that strange spinning. If Charlie didn't know any better, she'd swear that they resembled dials. The static was beginning to crackle to life around them once more, as the demon straightened his posture. Finally releasing his hold on the man's hair, he wrapped his lithe fingers around the bulky gun. A momentary pause; he seemed to be surveying its design?

“Hm...things certainly have changed since I was last here. Is this the choice of weaponry you use to hunt with nowadays?” His victim couldn't respond; it was amazing to Charlie that he wasn't dead simply by having the massive barrel rammed straight down into his jugular. This was a special sort of suffering, and she was the lone audience member privy to it. Well, he had talked about “putting on a show” beforehand...but this wasn't what she'd had in mind!

Another couple seconds of contemplation, before he simply shrugged. “Eh. To Hell with you. My apologies, to the man in charge.” A twitch in his stare. “Mm, **no**. He can consider it part of an...equivalent exchange, for all the years I spent, rotting away in that chamber.” Briefly, his gaze lingered on Charlie; whatever that emotion was, being reflected back at her...

...she wasn't sure if she wanted to know where it stemmed from.

“And now, it's time to take out the trash. Au revoir, traveler! And remember...” Bending down one last time, his teeth were terrifyingly elongated before the desperate, begging gaze of his victim. 

“ _...don't forget to smile._ ”

The flurry of bangs that went off at that moment...it was a distinct sound, to hear gunfire directly striking organs and bone, from the inside out...and then emptying into the floor beneath him. Charlie wanted to cover her ears, but her hands wouldn't respond. By now, the wound in her right palm was nothing more than a fleeting memory upon the wind. All she could see, was this vision before her, this antihero from another realm. Covered in all matters of blood and inner workings, he was watching with morbid delight as the man below him had gone completely still and silent. 

He began to deflate where he knelt; possibly, from the damage dealt to his body up close, even without the removal of the weapon from his mouth. The scent of... **some** thing burning - Charlie didn't wish to dwell upon what - was beginning to leak into the air, on top of everything else. Allowing the corpse to fall to the ground unceremoniously, the man in red proceeded to make a show of dusting himself off...before returning his attention to the lone living occupant in the room.

“That's better...” From out of nowhere, his personified mic-cane materialized in his right hand. Still smiling broadly as ever, he began to stride forward deliberately, taking in Charlie's shattered state with all the enjoyment of a long-lost friend just having reunited.

She was alone. Absolutely **alone** now, with this...crimson demon. This radio announcer, voice of an unearthly charmer, with hands stained to the nine circles and back. Stopping before her, he offered out one of these glistening appendages, the fingers curling slowly. It was as though he were inviting her, _daring_ her to touch.

“Now, where were we?”

**…...**

This was it. The final scene in her fleeting, short-lived life. This time, Charlie wasn't a little girl, looking on from the sidelines as her Mother performed upon the stage. Nor was she singing and dancing to an imaginary audience in the sanctuary of her room, or the immaculately manicured gardens of the Magne estate. No, this was as far from a typical drama as you could get. Here, every last word to fall from her lips carried the weight of the world upon its syllables. Charlie was playing her part, with her very existence hanging in the balance.

For whatever reason, this lunatic, bathed in the ruby red of his attire, as well as the blood of his enemies...had taken some sort of shine to her. He was quite clearly interested in “discussing” more; the subject they'd been engaged in before the rest of all Hell had broken loose. Now, with the backdrop of a ransacked, utterly ravaged bedroom, and corpses in various states of discombobulation...it was on her how this encounter would ultimately turn out.

Obviously, he was quite intelligent; his vernacular was flawless, strange static notwithstanding. His accent was strong, a definite carryover from another era. Perhaps, he'd been around to experience the time period he seemed to so heavily crib from. Whatever, that wasn't her main concern here. What was important, was that even while being a bloodthirsty beast all on his own, this being was capable of holding conversation, and figuring out the general gist of things. If so...

...then perhaps, there was a slim, minute, _minuscule_ **chance** , that she could turn the tides in her favor. It all depended on just how interested this guy-demon was in her. If she could provide him more than just some sort of fleeting amusement, then maybe, _just maybe_...he'd let her go? Or, he'd make her death quick and painless. A shake 'n' bake that she could rest easy in the afterlife on, knowing she hadn't suffered. 

No matter the outcome, she couldn't just sit by passively and wait for someone else to save her this time. Vaggie was gone. Charlie was effectively on her own. She held her cards close, and it was entirely up to her whether or not she played a winning hand. So, taking a quiet, deep breath, she attempted to reason with someone who may as well have been the Devil himself.

Oh, if she only knew...

“You...you saved my life. Umm.” Charlie wasn't about to touch his hand; excluding the fact that it was covered in gore and entrails, she couldn't shake the feeling...that there was something more to the gesture. Letting out a nervous chuckle, she did her best to stay calm and composed. As intimidating as he might've seemed, it would do her no good to cower. Wasn't that what her Father used to say, “You don't take shit from others”? One of the only good things she could remember, really.

Besides, as stated before, he **did** save her life, even if the methods were beyond unorthodox. For that, at least, she could offer him her sincere gratitude. “Thank you. I-I don't...really know, what would've happened, if you...hadn't, uh, stepped in, like you did. So...thank you.” 

Charlie was doing her best not to directly address the fact that he'd brutally slaughtered five men right before her eyes with unholy abilities that had no place in this world – or possibly even the next. It was a delicate line she was toeing here; one wrong move, and she could just as easily wind up with a rifle down her throat, too. 

Carefully, hoping her expression didn't betray her current mental conundrum, she did what she could to manage a smile. In these circumstances, smiling was the last thing that should've been on her mind. But, seeing as this man seemed to have such a...fondness, for them, it probably couldn't hurt, to attempt one of her own. Probably.

A few more seconds passed between them, absolutely still save for the static waves upon the air. Vaguely, Charlie thought she could register a few faint shouts and slams, from further outside. If she did make it out alive from this encounter...what would be waiting for her?

Then suddenly, he laughed. A pure, mirthful burst of joyful sound. Charlie felt her jaw slack slightly. Was that a good sign, or...? 

Pulling his hand back and tucking it behind him, along with the other and his mic, he shook his head. “Mercy me! I haven't had that much fun in so long! I thought I might very well pass out! Almost had me a case of the vapors there, ha ha!” He mock-fanned himself, with the same hand he'd been offering not a moment earlier. Replacing it in its prior pose, he removed the second, to sweep his arm across his chest, bowing deeply. Charlie swallowed hard, trying not to be swayed by the overly dramatic and polite gestures. 

Standing back up to his full height – which was decidedly taller than her, and possibly most people she knew as well – he regarded her with a softer, but still notably sly grin. “My dear, think nothing of it! It was the least I could do...for such a charming belle such as yourself.” Was he...trying to butter her up? Seriously, what was this guy's deal?? Charlie, in spite of herself, could feel her cheeks burn. If he weren't nearly so...well, like he was, he might've been actually, slightly, just a teensy bit... 

... _ **attractive??**_ Good Lord, if she didn't die first, perhaps the loony bin was a better place for her after all of this. It wasn't like she had any sort of legacy to uphold anymore, right? Not after this fiasco. There was no way anybody would trust her to drive a car, let alone manage an entire multi-billion dollar, worldwide-reaching company! 

That low, teasing chuckle, trickling into her hearing like a stray cat, pressed up and creeping along the alley walls. He was still surveying her as though appraising her, in some way she as yet couldn't determine. If he noticed any of her hesitation or bewilderment, he made no comment. He simply continued on with their talk, as though she were the most scintillating conversationalist he'd ever met. 

“After all...you _did_ grant me my freedom. Something I never would've expected, from one such as yourself. I mean...you _are_ human. **_Delectably_** so.” A tongue ran fluidly over golden fangs, and Charlie fought, with every fiber of her being, to hold back the involuntary shudder that threatened to wrack her frame. “I know my blood, and yes...there is _definitely_ humanity in you.”

What the hell did that mean? He was referring to their first form of contact, yes; when she'd practically impaled her hand on that stupid mechanism embedded in the door. When he'd first stepped out, and proceeded to...lick at her wound, like a wine connoisseur. But, how did any of the rest translate into something sensical? She gave him freedom? With what? How? From what? He'd been restrained? Had she just opened up the ultimate Pandora's Box without even realizing it?

“However...” Her focus was returned once more, to the smooth talking vampire-esque assassin. His smile had curved up just a bit more sharply, and Charlie could only begin to guess at what he was about to spring on her now. “Blood alone, much less human blood...is **not** enough, to undo those sorts of locks that had me bound. I don't mean to brag, but... _I'm one of a kind._ ” 

His eyes seemed to flare with an invisible flame. Behind him, his shadow had become animated of its own accord once more, and was snickering at his 'performance'. “That's why your Father had me quarantined in the first place. Captive in a little personal cell, that he and he alone could access. He couldn't risk anybody else finding out that he, the Leader of the lost and damned...had found a new fear.”

Charlie felt her stomach starting to sink. Her...her Father? What did he have to do with any of this? There was a specific image beginning to form in her mind's eye...and boy, but she did not like it at all. **Not one bit.**

“How...do you know my Father? Wait – how does he know you? Did you...work for him?” Charlie knew her questions were weak and stupid. After everything that had happened this night, the answer was practically staring her point-blank in the face. To act dumb now, and deny that it existed, that any of this was real...well, she'd cheated death once, but not for a very good reason, if she couldn't begin to at least connect the dots.

Another hearty laugh. If the creature found her inquiries insipid, he chose not to comment so harshly. “Oh, my dear girl...I know him **quite** well. We have, as you say... _history_ together.” His head lowered for a moment, hair falling to deepen his fearsome gaze with accentuated shading. This just lengthened the edges, making him appear for all the world like he were going to pounce, and eat her right up.

That...that sounded _wrong_.

“You see...I was the **one** and **only** denizen of his kingdom, who had ever truly posed a **threat** to him. Him...and his _throne_.” Slowly, lifting his head up to lock eyes with her once more, Charlie's blood ran cold at what she saw.

There, in his garnet gaze, were spinning dials. Just like an old-fashioned radio. The static around them continued to buzz intensely, generating friction in the air. Charlie swore, absolutely _swore,_ that the space around him was beginning to... _ **glitch?**_ Strange spasms and symbols seemed to flicker and linger, as he offered his official greeting and declaration.

“My name, is Alastor. Though, many choose to address me as 'The Radio Demon'. I was, once upon a time, the most prolific Overlord in Hell, especially being born and cast down as a condemned mortal.” Charlie could almost feel the world giving way at her feet. It took all of her strength not to topple over then and there. 

A rough, low chuckle. “I was **so** powerful, that _Lucifer himself_ considered me a danger...and sealed me away for eternity, to torture with his glory and boasting. Never to see the light of the pentagram ever again.” At hearing that name pass his pursed lips, Charlie knew what was coming next.

“Your Father... _ **is**_ that Lucifer. Isn't that right, **Charlie-belle?** ”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!UPDATE! A lovely friend/reader by the name of Popoto has been SO kind, to grace my story with its very own piece of fan art! And it's ABSOLUTELY BREATHTAKING! 💗💗💗 Go check it out, & give her _all_ the ❤️! Here's the link:**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/?igshid=9dfrn3en162i
> 
> \---
> 
> DUN-DUN-DUUUN! ANOTHER CLIFFHANGER! 'is IMMEDIATELY pelted with chicken bones' I'm sorry - !
> 
> I never actually set out to write back-to-back cliffhangers, it just...happened? Like, I sat down, wrote the first Chapter of this to get it out of my system, posted it here, got the unexpected feedback, & then decided... "Ah, to Hell with it, then!" [literal or no? IDK] So, I started writing more...& now, this is where the muse has led me. I have five more Chapters in storage after posting this, so I need to get back to work soon. I'm basically just operating on a wing & a prayer, plus caffeine. A SHIT-TON of caffeine. My sleep cycle's already outta whack, but it's no wonder it isn't getting any better... 😅
> 
> Yeah. Quarantine makes some weird stuff happen. Like me actually being PRODUCTIVE, & ATTEMPTING to complete a story WHILE in the process of posting, 'stead of writing it all at once, & THEN going from there. Either way, I haven't written a complete story since 2015. Will this work? Eh, who knows. BUT. I AM having quite the splendid time right now, & y'all seem to be having fun, too. So, I'mma just keep at it. Deal? 😈 ❤️
> 
> Here we see the wild Alastor, going complete HAM on his last target, & PROVING why you don't mess with him, or defy his orders. IDK if I feel sorry for his victim, or what...I mean, he WAS an asshole. But THAT...is a PRETTY brutal way to die, IMO. And I'M the one who came up with/wrote it. 😅 Tried to give a nod back to Alastor's [supposed?] history of hunting experience in his past. 🤞 it fit well enough.
> 
> Hopefully, everybody's still decently In-Character? Although it should be obvious by this point, that I'm taking QUITE a few liberties with this AU [*cough*HEAVILY 'Hellsing'-inspired*cough*] ...I'm still doing my best to keep everybody recognizable. Even with the changes between this universe & canon, I'm fighting to get the reactions right. If anything seems too inconsistent or far-fetched, PLEASE let me know, so I can fix it.
> 
> Also here, we FINALLY have a bombshell dropped: our dearest Charlie...may NOT be so normal after all. Her Father is the Devil himself?? AND, it was Charlie's own Daddy Dearest who locked up Alastor in that unknown prison! Hm-hm-hm~! I wonder, I wonder...how does this bode, for our lil' Belle? Just WHAT does Alastor want with her from here? And...what of everybody else in the mansion, as well? What is their fate?
> 
> Ah-ha...that's what updates are for, right?! 'ducks to avoid being assailed again' Umm, anyways! All feedback is welcomed, encouraged, & appreciated! I'm so happy that so many of you seem to be enjoying this strange mutt of a story that I hath wrought unto this world. 😆 No, but seriously - THANK YOU ALL, SO MUCH, from the bottom of my 💗. Hearing from you, in whatever form, just makes my day. I'm SO EXCITED to keep running with this project, & see where it takes me. As long as y'all are still sticking around, I'm sure the journey will be one HELLUVA ride. I look forward to every second of it. 💖
> 
> Until next time, take care & be safe. And, as our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... **_"Stay tuned."_**


	4. Mommy And Daddy Aren't All Right, They're Both Fucking Weird

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Family secrets, revealed through an impromptu dance among the dead. Seems Charlie's got some common ground with her abnormal avenger - but she can't let her guard down just yet. Also...how is the rest of the party faring down below?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!UPDATE!! A lovely friend/reader by the name of Popoto has been SO kind, to grace my story with its very own piece of fan art! And it's ABSOLUTELY BREATHTAKING! 💗💗💗 Go check it out, & give her all the ❤️! Here's the link:**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/?igshid=9dfrn3en162i
> 
> **!!UPDATE THE SECOND!! Our lovely dear [deer] & talented friend/reader, Popoto, has blessed us, yet AGAIN, with some STUNNING fanart for this fic, featuring a sequence from this very Chapter! Go show her some more 💖💖💖!!**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/

In _all_ the universes, in _all_ the timelines, in _all_ the worlds...never, in a million **years** , would Charlie have come close to guessing that hers, in slightly over two decades, would culminate into _**this.**_ That she'd be standing face-to-face with a fearsome being who may as well have been the Devil himself...

...but was instead telling her, that it was her _**Father**_ , who bore that cursed title. No matter if they shared a name – this whole situation was absolutely _insane!_ Already having been forced to accept a hostile invasion and attempted company takeover via terrorists storming her home, then the discovery of this ruthless stranger behind the unknown door in her parents' room. She'd been the lone witness to his brutal slaughter of the men who'd had her cornered, and although he may've saved her life, that didn't make any of this easier to swallow.

And now, **now** , the cherry on top, the icing on the cake: this 'Alastor', as he'd introduced himself, expecting her to believe that she was the daughter to the ultimate evil! The first of the Fallen Angels, ruling that pit of eternal damnation that people couldn't even decide existed or not! After everything that had happened tonight, there was no question that it did – that wasn't what Charlie had a problem with.

No, her issue was with the fact that this crimson _crackpot_ seriously thought that **she** , of all people – the sheltered little rich girl who couldn't even hurt a fly – was _somehow_ the offspring of fucking _**Lucifer!**_ Mister betrayer of God himself, he who held such hatred for humanity that he'd lost his purity just to attempt to prove a point! Undoubtably, he'd failed to do so. But still, he'd had at least some sort of remaining legacy. 

One which Charlie herself had absolutely _**nothing**_ to do with!

“You...you're mad. Absolutely batshit bonkers. Ha...ha ha, ha ha ha! No, I've – I've had _enough!_ ” Alastor continued to watch her, expression unchanging, as Charlie ran a shaking hand through her flyaway locks. She could feel the sweat running down her temples, a few strands sticking to her damp skin. Her breathing was heavy and uneven as she turned away roughly, not wanting to look at the creature who had single-handedly, even more so than her human assailants themselves, upended her existence into the cosmos. 

Her words were bitter and laced with disbelieving snark as she retorted without pause, “Next, I – I suppose you'll be telling me that my Mother Lilith, is the – **that** Lilith, too? The Succubus queen?” 

In reply, she received a quick chortle of delight. “You catch on fast, dear one!” Charlie wanted to scream. Spinning around on her heel, ignoring her prior wants and how her head and vision swam from the sudden motion, she marched straight up to this – this frightening, controversial vision in red, bracing herself against the gore and fear. 

With an extended finger, on a hand so much lesser than his own, so lithely capable of tearing human beings limb from limb, she proceeded to jab it in the center of his chest. No matter how small and scared she felt, she'd had enough! This monster, whether or not he was planning to kill her, was going to listen to her now, if only once!

“You just – just **expect** me to **believe** , without any sort of evidence, after everything that's happened tonight – a whole lot of _bull_ , I might add, on my goddamn _birthday!_ \- that, **some** how, **some** way, my Father and Mother are the heads of Hell itself?! And that _I_ share in that heritage?? How does that even make any sort of sense?! You – You said it yourself: _**I'm human!**_ I can't possibly be related to them!” Charlie was now panting hard, teeth grit as she waited for the inevitable smackdown. At least she'd gotten her point across. Was he going to rip her arm off? Or her head? Maybe tear out her throat with those dagger-like fangs...

But instead, that oversized hand, with long, spindly digits - four of them, in fact; yep, **definitely** not normal – wrapped around her extended own, gently lowering it in his grasp. How oddly they fit together – better than she'd have expected. Charlie couldn't even begin to freak out about the bloody appendage in contact against her skin though, as the other was now reaching up, to...

...pinch at her cheeks. Like a parent with a child, squeezing them tightly, before spreading his fingers back, pulling upwards at the ends of her mouth. He was looking down at her, almost in...amusement? Like he were doting on her? Indulging her, perhaps?

“Smile, my dear. With all that passion and fervor to your tone, I'm certain it'll _absolutely_ brighten this drab tomb. At least, almost as much as my own. Ha ha.” Leaning in close, his voice was soft, with a faint crackle. Charlie felt her chest tighten. “Besides...you're _never_ fully dressed without one.”

Then, the moment was over. Alastor had released his grasp upon her, and was now turned away, humming to himself as he made his way over the bodies towards the gaping hole of an entryway. “But yes – you do pose some rather interesting – and important questions. How **would** demons be able to bear a child of human heritage, I wonder?” 

With a sly glance over his shoulder, a new smugness was filtering into his smile. “Though, even with your humanity...there's _no_ mistaking it: that parentage is running through your veins just as strongly, if not quite as clearly.”

Motioning his mic-cane towards the sealed door behind them, Alastor faced her once more. “It is not just the blood of a demon that is required to open that gateway – no, no. It's _far_ more complex than that. Only _**his**_ blood can open the portal, directly leading him to me.” 

A tsk from behind a wide grin then. “However...even his abilities have limits. It would've taken an extra step from his Infernal Lowness, to willingly release me from my bonds. Yet _you_ , my dear...” His vermillion eyes flashed with devious curiosity. “You were able to do three things, in one fell swoop. To find me, free me, and call me forth from isolation, all with just a few drops of your absolutely _divine_ essence.” Charlie felt that warmth to her face yet again; was this guy **intentionally** trying to sound suggestive? Or was it merely a part of his persona? 

“What...what are you getting at here?” Now, it was more than just him claiming her to be of supernatural ancestry. Alastor seemed to be going beyond that; his words were quite obviously hinting at her possibly...being even **more** of an anomaly than what he'd first alluded her to be. The further he delved into things, the harder of a time Charlie was having putting up a good fight against it. There was no logical, rational explanation as to what had occurred here tonight...and, if Alastor really _was_ as powerful as he said...perhaps there was more to she herself than was apparent at first glance?

Hurriedly, her mind was zooming backwards, through multiple childhood memories. How many “emergency business trips” her folks had gone on, how many times they'd shut her out, beyond just her Father's general lack of enthusiasm towards her projects or interests. How people would often comment on her Mother's “otherworldly beauty”, and “ethereal, hypnotic allure” or her Father's “wickedly keen business sense”, and “snake-tongued ability to create and seal deals”. Some swore he could get away with murder, just by words and charisma alone. Looking at it through the lens of these new revelations...perhaps there **was** more to their family than met the eye?

But...why, though? Why would the Devil, of all beings, want to live on Earth as a mortal businessman, much less with a family? Why would he have a child with human blood? How could he achieve such a task? What sort of gain could possibly come from this? He was freaking Satan! He could do and have damn near anything he wanted! So, why this??

“If...if what you say is true – _if!_ Don't get too excited just yet...” Charlie had to add on that little addition, seeing Alastor's gaze light up like a puppy who'd just heard the word “walk”. “ _If_ it's true...then why? What reason would the Devil himself have for all of this? Isn't Hell enough? Why would Lucifer bother fathering a kid like me – someone who can't even keep up with his...human legacy?" _I doubt he'd bother to trust me with anything related to his main schtick..._

At this, Charlie received a loud, barking laugh in return. Scowling, she glared up at Alastor, who was spinning his mic like a baton between deft fingers. What was he going to prattle on about now, with his uncanny flair? 

Bringing it to his lips, he began to hum once more. But this time, his lips parted, allowing the words to flow forth in a whole new manner. From what Charlie had seen so far of him, anyway.

_“Ah, the Devil's antipathy  
Towards the being they call Man.  
No matter the contrast between sides,  
Well, it's not **that** hard to understand!”_

Charlie's jaw dropped. Was...was he actually _singing??_ Here and now, over _this?_ He could _sing??_ Without pause, his shadow had split apart from him, into multiple little entities, in an instant bearing their own individual musical instruments to provide an orchestral backup. The melody was quaintly upbeat, something of a soulful dance number with a macabre twist.

_“Whether they be bound in flesh,  
Or scorched by the eternal flame.  
Both are intrinsically, **perfectly** flawed,  
Gloriously **sinful** in their stain!”_

Alastor was absolutely enthralled, as the sounds of voices, a choir in the background, began to rise upon the static, which had evened out to provide a classic touch to the jaunty and haunting tune. Oh, it had been so very long since the last time he'd gotten to express himself like this! He wasn't all just blood and butchery! He had style, he had class! His talents were varied and many, and he was second to none, above all.

As he grew further engrossed in the moment, his powers continued to thrive, setting the stage for his flamboyant and long-awaited return to grand standing. A strange neon pallet was beginning to flicker across the blood-soaked scenery, lighting it up like something out of a crime scene on a drug trip. Perhaps it was both the environment and vocals, mingling together, but a new current was surging through Charlie's system - as though she were a part of a production she shouldn't have been witnessing, yet couldn't say no to.

She didn't even get a chance to speak, let alone ponder this any further. In one swift motion, Charlie was pulled into his arms and spun about, as though they were partners in a dance. 

Of course. **Of _course_** a beastly demon could harmonize and waltz like a Broadway performer of the highest calibre. Since she obviously wasn't being given a choice whether or not she wanted to participate, Charlie could only hope to keep up as smoothly as possible, even with her shattered mental state and nerves. At least the music had a good rhythm?

Twirling her with a flourish and extended arm, Charlie managed to follow his steps without tripping. Oh-ho, so this little belle was quick on her feet! Alastor had made a lucky choice here, in his unspoken invitation!

On her end, Charlie had to admit, there was a twinge of sweet reminiscence. If she really wanted to, she could look at this as finally having a partner for all those impromptu, solo shows she'd performed on her lonesome growing up. Her years of practice were finally paying off, in the most unfathomable way possible.

The pitch was beginning to rise, as he drew her in towards him, bending her back in his arm, snaking around her waist. Cue the flush to her face. The mic was still to his lips, but those same lips were _so very close_ to her own - !

_“Stumbling humans or deviant Demons,  
Do we ever really **need** a reason?  
We'll do just as we want to, heh,  
All but for the simple pleasin'!”_

Charlie's heart was skipping like a rock chucked across the water, as she was slowly brought up to a standing position. Inwardly, she let out a deep breath; this sort of close contact, was almost too much!

Alastor let her go, taking a few steps back without looking away. Here it was - the beginning of the end! The epic finale!

In Charlie's thoughts, what she was focused on in that second, was how he could manage not to misstep without seeing behind him. Perhaps a perk of being a non-human entity? That'd come in handy in a routine, surely.

With a swell of his chest, the scarlet nightmare threw his head back for the final part. Immediately, her thoughts were stilled.

_“Neither side's immune to a whim,  
So lets have a ball and run, run, **run**!  
From the start of time archaic,  
As above, so below - all, fueled by...”_

Lowering his head, Alastor fixed her with that arresting stare. Charlie felt like a deer in headlights, as his bangs shaded his intense gaze. His lips were pursed in a triumphant smirk, as he delivered the last line.

 _“Sheer...absolute... **boredom**.”_ With that, the instruments and background vocals ended. Yes, a flawless finish! Bowing deeply, a smattering of applause broke out from his faithful sentient mic. “Well done! Even imprisonment can't tarnish the soul of a natural-born star!” Nodding as he straightened his suit, Alastor began to make his way back to Charlie, whose ears were still ringing with the unusually catchy melody...

...and that _voice_. She **really** didn't want to admit it, but... **damn**. Alastor could _**sing**_. Better than many others she'd heard here on Earth. There was definitely an old-school showman vibe to it, and adding in that unique accent he bore, one which most likely hadn't been heard in close to, if not already a century? It was captivating, and mentally Charlie was chiding herself harshly for being so drawn to it. The whole number, in general, was not something she'd be forgetting any time soon. The feelings coursing through her; never before had she seen, let alone been a part of such a performance...and perhaps she never would again.

Briefly, she imagined, her own voice entering, to sing alongside his own...

 _ **WHAT?!**_ Slamming on the brakes, Charlie mentally ordered herself to return to the matter at hand. He'd gotten the message across at least, through his improvised ditty. Though, the answer wasn't necessarily one that made things any easier to accept. “He got bored? The Devil himself got **bored?** So, he started this whole thing on Earth just for shits and giggles? He made a company, and had a kid, just for **entertainment??** ” The blonde thought her jaw would come unhinged, by the amount of hanging it had been engaged in over the course of this one night. She existed, basically, because the Devil himself had gotten fucking _**bored??**_

Alastor let out a crisp, quick laugh. “Ha ha! Basically!” Ugh, he was too happy, and unabashedly so, about that fact. Then, his attention returned to her.

“I must say, though...you are _quite_ the dancer, my dear Charlie-belle.” Oh no, not the pet names. A jolt of her heart, as he slid in close once more. A finger was gently tilting her chin upwards – at least it kept her jaw steady. “My _sincerest_ thanks for indulging a former jailbird in his obsession.” Who would've thought that a demon, of all things, would have a love for classic show tunes and dance routines? Charlie could feel her cheeks flushing at the compliment and admission. Yet again, her thoughts wandered. What would Alastor think, were he to hear her sing...?

 _No, no, **no**! That's **not** what you should be focusing on here!_ As she made a motion to pull away, Charlie felt a sudden tremor from below. Instantly, her thoughts were trained on the original catalyst for all of this:

The home invasion. Of **her** home, she might add.

 _Vaggie!_ Ready to hurry out into the conflict, no matter if she couldn't even do anything about it, Charlie was suddenly halted. A clawed hand was gripping her arm, and snapping her back. With a yelp of surprise, she looked behind and upwards, in indignation, at the lanky, towering demon. He seemed resistant to allowing her this departure. 

“Why in such a rush, darling? We were having **such** a lovely talk.” Charlie shook her head, messy hair falling about. She fixed him with the most resolute, serious stare she could manage, despite her being so riled and flustered. Whether it was intentional on his part, she had yet to find out truly. 

“I already told you, before – well, _all of this!_ ” She waved her free arm, to indicate the carnage surrounding them. “I'm in **big** trouble, and so is everybody else here! I have to go help them! My friend is out there! I don't know if she's hurt, or – or even still _alive!_ ” The words stung, absolutely _**smarted**_ to utter, but it was the truth. Charlie couldn't play dumb and pretend like nothing was wrong. It would've been all too easy for Vaggie, just like anyone else here, no matter her experience and weaponry, to... 

Managing to at last free herself from his grasp, Charlie turned away again. “And you – wherever you came from, Hell or prison, I-I don't care! You need to go back there! I appreciate what you did for me earlier, terrifying as it was, but - ”

Her words were cut off bluntly with an even, smooth retort. “ **No.** ” It was as though a ten ton weight had suddenly been dropped on the atmosphere itself; the feeling was thick, hinting at all the worst possibilities. Carefully, trying to ignore the rapid thudding in her chest, and the fresh prickling of hairs, Charlie faced him once more.

Alastor was still smiling, but there was a definite new darkness to his visage. Obviously, he didn't agree with her comments or order. The knobs were beginning to return to his stare, as his head tilted haltingly, like the motions were being erratically stilted. The cracks to his neck only made the image worse. “ _No_...no, I don't believe I will.” 

Tapping the floor with his cane, he strode up toward her, taking his sweet time, as every step seemed in time with the beats of her heart. It was as though there were a giant clock overhead, counting each and every one. “You see...after _so_ long in solitary confinement, even as I've not called this realm home in _many eras..._ ” 

Chuckling, the dials in his eyes gradually began to reverse, back into iris and pupil state. “...I **do** feel like my time would be _far_ better spent up **here**.” Leaning in yet again, until his nose was nearly pressed up against her own – did this guy not understand the concept of 'personal space'?? - Alastor delivered his last words with a drawn-out finality. “ _Especially_ knowing what I do now...and having met _**you**_. Mm, no...I think I **will** be sticking around.”

Forcing herself to ignore the onslaught of crazy emotions rushing through her, Charlie managed to hold back any sort of harsh curses, instead deciding to challenge his reasoning. He might've been ruthless, but he wasn't an idiot. That actually **wasn't** a good thing, now that she thought about it. “Why? You're an all-powerful demon, r-right?” Forget the stutter, keep going! “What business would you have staying up here? Wouldn't you be better off returning to Hell, and – and continuing your...whatever it was you were doing there?” 

In response, she received a soft, breathy chuckle for her troubles. “Oh, dearest Charlie-belle...” _Stop calling me that!_ “...what did we **just** talk about before this, when we were sharing _such_ an intimate and energetic embrace upon the figurative dance floor? Why does _anyone_ do what they do?” Instantly, Charlie knew what he was getting at. She gulped quietly.

“Sheer...absolute... _ **boredom.**_ ” At least this time she didn't stutter. By the time she'd finished, Alastor had been parroting the words right along with her. “Good girl. You remembered.” Straightening up just so, and allowing her some room to breathe, Alastor began to twirl his mic-cane absently on its tip. Although the sentient being let out a grumble, he paid it no mind.

“While I **could** return to the monotony of being the 'Radio Demon' down below, striking fear and terror into all who know my name...hm, no. I do feel like there's **far** more potential waiting for me up here. In particular... _at your side._ ” That flash of his stare, that glint off his golden choppers. Charlie wasn't sure she liked where he was going here with all this. “After all...you **did** release me back into this world, not Hell...and, more specifically, you requested my help, during your time of need.” Another chuckle then. “Which, as is quite apparent...you're not free of just yet.”

Now, Charlie could begin to see what he was getting at. It was true; the house was still in danger downstairs, and it wasn't like she could just march in there and take care of it herself. Up here, as violent and horrifying as it had been...Alastor **was** the one who'd gotten her out of this part of the conflict. If she went back below with him by her side – _if_ he were willing to assist – then surely, she could get through this? After all, it wasn't like she had any sort of means to force him back through that damn door...and if he were going to stay here, why not put him to a positive use?

Yes, there was most likely not going to be any sort of happy ending involved here. But as long as there was some sort of end to this nightmare...Charlie would take it. It was all she had left. So, squaring her shoulders and steeling her remaining nerves, she locked eyes, deep irises to ruby ones. 

“So...if I let you stay here...you'll help me out? Is that what you're saying?” Instantly, Alastor looked for all the world like the cat who'd swallowed the canary, as he smoothed out his stance. Uh-oh. What did that mean...?

“Indeed. For the price of you allowing me residency here, I will be willing to offer my services. Just say the word, and **it is yours**.” Again, his hand extended, long fingers curling above an upturned palm. This time however, there was a definite change in the energy surrounding them, as an eerie green glow began to emanate from below him. His shadow was stretching upwards wildly in response, cackling in muted revelry. 

Alastor continued to survey her, cruelly tempting. “So... _ **do we have a deal?"**_

Taking in a slow, shuddering breath, Charlie prepared herself for what she was about to do. With this action, she was effectively accepting everything he'd done for her, to her enemies, everything she'd supposedly done for him, and even everything he claimed about her and her family. By sealing on this offer, she was going to be bound to this madman...for who knew how long. 

It was that sudden realization that halted her hand, halfway towards reaching his own.

Once more, she felt that unease. Even if Alastor **had** saved her life...there was just something off to her, about accepting a deal in his words. How could she be sure she could really trust him? When it got right down to it...she had saved him, _before_ he'd assisted her. So, shouldn't it be the other way around? Shouldn't _he_ be agreeing to things on _her_ terms? 

Instantly, her mind was made up, as Charlie retracted her hand. The green glow dissipated, and now Alastor was studying her with a quizzical smile. 

_Let's see if this is the last thing I ever do..._ “No...Al. I'm not making a deal with you.” Great, now she was using nicknames. It had slipped out before she'd had a chance to catch it. But whatever! Barreling onwards before he could voice any sort of disagreements – if he were planning to – Charlie launched into her spiel. “I helped you, unintentionally or otherwise, before you rescued me. I gave you your freedom, right? And now, you're saying that I've got Devil's blood running through me, too?” 

Breathing in sharply, Charlie delivered her punchline. “So, in that case...as the newly-appointed... **Princess of Hell** \- ” Oh, his eyes lit up at hearing that, something she'd just thrown in on the spur of the moment, for extra pizazz, “ - I hereby employ you to my services, to pay off your gratitude to me...uhh, until you get...bored, and decide to leave, I guess.” 

She figured it'd be best to add on that last bit, just to make sure he knew he had an out. She wasn't cruel, after all, despite her unexpectedly discovered bloodline. Making sure she was standing up straight, and giving off the most confident aura she could manage, no matter how frightened and drained she may've been, she regarded Alastor unflinchingly. “Does...that sound okay?”

He cocked his head, surveying her with that same smile, but an unreadable emotion. Oh, boy. “Hmm...” Perhaps **this** was the part where she died?

Then, his head righted itself. “Eh, good enough!” Charlie let out a long breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding, as Alastor's cane dispersed away into the nether, and he made his way towards the exit. Charlie followed after him, relieved, grateful, and absolutely sick with worry. What had she just unleashed upon the unsuspecting world...?

The Radio Demon was as cheerful as ever, hearing quickly zeroing in on the distant sounds of continuing battle. Smile widening with hands tucked behind his back, he cast a quick glance over his shoulder at Charlie. 

“Shall we?”

**…...**

Downstairs in the Magne manor resembled nothing short of a combat zone. The damages were extensive – cavities and fissures blown out in the walls and parts of the floor, from homemade explosives, as well as bullet holes riddling damn near everything. Shattered glass from windows, broken belongings, torn wallpaper and furniture from indiscriminate slashes. Lights flickering on and off, with the stench of gunpowder and blood hanging on the air, choking the senses. Smoke wafted over the scenery, both of still debris...

...and unmoving bodies. At least, most were perpetually frozen in time; the once lavish living space was now the final resting place of so many unsuspecting souls from high society, as well as a few armed crooks. Among the slaughter, however, one form was still scurrying about, albeit awkwardly. Arduous breaths fell from painted lips, while a shoddy party dress hung from her frame. Thick, ebony bangs fell over a custom eyepatch, as the remaining golden iris was scanning her immediate surroundings. Her wonderings were following in rapid-fire succession, desperate of where to go from here.

Also, how to go about it.

With a physical presence that was tattered and bloodied, both from enemies and herself, Vaggie stood out like a sore thumb, the lone living among a formerly glamorous land of the dead. To think, just a while back, this place had actually been a home; a glitzy, prestigious mansion, belonging to her dearest friend. That they were all engaged in celebration during trying times, that they'd had a fun little mini-shindig in Charlie's room, getting ready for the unwanted but unavoidable evening soiree. Then... _this_. All of _**this**_.

In one long-gloved hand was her trusty dagger – it was the blade with the winding golden snake around the handle. Charlie had always gotten a kick out of it because of how skillful a wielder Vaggie was, and how the tiny red and blue gems in the serpent's eyes had always managed to glitter in any sort of lighting. Perhaps that's why it was still on her person, and not buried in the body of a terrorist.

 _Seriously, **fuck** these pendejos!_ It was bad enough that Charlie had to deal with multiple stressors all at once: the disappearance of her folks, the inheritance of their company, and having to get through an imposed gathering, on a day that should've been enjoyed by her choice. **No one else's.** But oh _no,_ they just _had_ to add insult to injury, barging in and scaring the shit out of everybody gathered, before unloading with their assembled arsenal. 

If it hadn't been for her quick thinking and reflexes – growing up in violence tended to train you, whether you wanted to be or not – she and Charlie could've easily wound up on the floor with the other unfortunate spirits, who hadn't been fast enough to react. She'd managed to get her friend to the grand staircase, leading to the two upper floors. It had been all too obvious, just by the look on her face, that Charlie had been well on her way to a breakdown. And that was the last thing Vaggie needed. She'd had to encourage her dearest friend to stay strong, no matter how terrifying things might've been then, or how bad they could become further down the line.

Those thugs were after her, so it was imperative to keep Charlie safe. That wouldn't happen if she stuck around ground level. Both of their phones were up in her room anyway, so it was only expected that's what they should've been going for. And if it had been just the two of them, Vaggie would've already been leading her there, ready to punch in the number for the authorities while blocking off the exits and preparing for a standoff. However...

They weren't alone. Even if some of their guests were very much dead, and it was most likely their fault in the first place that these fuckers had come around to begin with...they weren't evil. Stupid, sure. But not evil. And like hell they could protect themselves. They would all be trapped down below on the first floor. At least she had a plan for Charlie. But she couldn't usher everybody upstairs. That would just offer far too easy of a target for their attackers. 

Besides...Charlie wouldn't forgive herself if she'd thought that everyone had been left to fend for themselves alone, and ultimately die. No matter how much she'd wanted to go with her, to stay by her side...Vaggie couldn't do it. Her desire to protect Charlie extended to more than one degree – saving not just her life, but her happiness and innocence as well, the best she could manage. 

So, with a heavy heart, like an iron stone in her chest, Vaggie had forced her up the stairs alone, determined, if nothing else, to keep one other somebody alive – the most important somebody in her world - and those bastards away from her trail. They'd seen her running, sure, but they weren't about to do anything, not on Vaggie's watch. Those first two grunts had made the fatal mistake of underestimating her as they'd taken in her lone form, all dressed up and dual-wielding.

“Ha, get this! Stupid bitch thinks she can really do anything with those pretty butter knives! Just lie down, and let the men play!” They'd been charging her, guns out and ready to unleash a bullet hell. But Vaggie wasn't going to make it easy for them to claim their trophies.

“Ah - ?” Just as they were nearing her, she'd proceeded to duck down, and expertly slide across the wooden floor, between their wide striding stances. Before they could respond in time, she'd already lodged one dagger behind a knee, while the other was wedged as far as she could manage into a lower spine, the narrowest space between armor and fabric that was visible. Sometimes, it really paid to be short. Catching them off guard with the unexpected strikes of pain, she'd managed to grab a hold of one of their guns and -

 **Bang. Bang.** Just like she'd taught herself: one round each, straight through the eye. Although blades were her area of interest and expertise, Vaggie wasn't dumb. In combat, it was important to be well-versed in all manner of weapons. Once she'd grown up, she'd made _sure_ to take all the time she needed, whenever she had the chance, to gain familiarity with all forms of assault. 

_Once._ She'd been weak _once._ She'd been helpless _once. **Never again.**_

Thus, she'd employed her lone wolf operation, staying as close to the stairs as she could, while keeping an eye out for stragglers from their party. Or, at least, that had been her plan...

...until someone just _had_ to screw it up.

She'd been right in the middle of dispatching one more soldier – taking note of the fact that the gun she'd snagged before was running out of ammo, and she'd already lost two of her blades – when a sudden weight had come barreling into her from the side with a wail. Nearly being bowled over, Vaggie had come face-to-face with a sniveling, disheveled older woman; clearly, one of the many guests who'd arrived to attend the gathering. She'd somehow stumbled upon Vaggie and, seeing her fighting against their attackers, was obviously seeking protection. Which, granted, that was what she was aiming to provide here, just _not_ \- !

“There! They said upstairs! Get past this bimbo, and find her!” Not at the expense of physical mobility and her carefully crafted plan! As carefully crafted as something spontaneous could be, anyway! Forced away from the steps behind the nearest shelter, in order to save her unexpected charge, Vaggie was only able to cap off one more, and disable another. The remaining five had decided to ignore her, but in exchange, were hot on Charlie's tail. Exactly what she **didn't** want!

 _Shit. **Shit!**_ Vaggie had managed to get the woman into some sort of hiding, but had been torn in two from there: follow the creeps upstairs to keep them from finding Charlie, or stay here and continue offering backup to the remaining folks who hadn't yet been picked off? 

It was as she'd been lost on this train of thought, that she'd been caught off-guard. A single combatant had taken this opportunity to line her up in his sights, and...

By now, the other long glove tied around her right upper arm was already soaked through with blood. It throbbed horribly where the bullet had pierced through, with an added addition of stinging sizzle. Gun wounds burned like a real son of a bitch. But, she could live with it. She would. She had to. Not just for her sake, or the other patrons...

...but for Charlie. She'd never forgive herself in the afterlife, if there was one: if she were to get axed, and leave her best friend alone in this world, let alone this madhouse.

Right...'best friend'.

It was ridiculously apparent, that Charlie meant something fierce to her. Vaggie wasn't blind. Maybe in one eye literally – thanks, Dad - but not to matters of the heart. Until her final breath, she'd fight for her. To keep that sunny smile on rosy red cheeks. To give back to her everything she'd offered, without hesitation or obligation. That was all Vaggie wanted. As long as Charlie was safe and happy, nothing else mattered. Which was why she'd engaged on this mission of mercy to begin with.

A high-pitched shriek cut off her trail of thought, reminding the scrappy young woman of her current duties. Readying herself the most she could possibly manage under the circumstances, Vaggie launched herself back into the chaos.

Yes, this mission of mercy...that held no forgiveness at its end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...and there we go. FINALLY, a Chapter that doesn't end on a real cliffhanger! Enjoy it...because those aren't exactly the most common in this story, I've come to realize. 😂 So...buckle up, is all I can really say here. My apologies - I just went where the muse [Alastor] took me. 😅
> 
> Hopefully, this update was still as entertaining as the past few? Music is something that I REALLY enjoy, despite having no musical talent that I can see. And, I know it's ALSO a large part of 'Hazbin' as well. So, I wanted to include that here.
> 
> ...however, I'm not exactly the most comfortable using other's song lyrics. I mostly try not to, if I can be honest. And here...well, I needed specific songs, to fit the moments I was trying to convey. So, finally, I just said "Fuck it!" Since 'Hazbin's musical numbers are all spontaneous & original, unique to every character...I decided to go that route in my fic, too.
> 
> That's right: Alastor's song in this Chapter, was penned out by yours truly. Is it painfully obvious? 😂 
> 
> I haven't written a song in YEARS, nevertheless this sort of tune; all my past stuff was angry, wannabe heavy metal. I REALLY tried to string something decent together though, something to fit both the universe, & Alastor as well. I thought, based off of his personality & how he conducts himself, that I could see him guiding Charlie to figuring out an answer, through the unconventional method of song & dance. Does it work, or is it a no-go? 
> 
> Considering the context of the whole sequence, this may be uncreative, but I imagine it being titled something like 'Why Do They Do What They Do?' Or should it be 'We'? IDK. Is it wrong of me to be coming up with titles for my own songs? Does this damn thing even SEEM like it could/would fit to an actual melody...?
> 
> BE PREPARED: there are MORE of these musical interludes throughout this fic. So, if you have ANY problems with this one, voice them to me NOW, so I have a chance to work on fixing them, before we go too far down the rabbit hole. 😆 I just went with a LOT of gut feelings on this one...& sometimes, you can't only rely on feelings. You need a little bit more to fine-tune the results.
> 
> ALSO: how was the big reveal, in general? I won't go into too much rehashing here, just...did it flow smoothly enough? Does it feel like too much was explained at once? Or, not enough? I'm trying to keep the balance here; I DON'T want to rush through things, but at the same time, I DON'T want this story to feel like it's just dragging on. Writing for a brand new series/fandom always teaches me new things, but part of that knowledge comes from the wonderful friends I make along the way - all of you! So, PLEASE don't be afraid to say hi, & offer your two cents!
> 
> And Charlie. Dear, sweet, flustered Charlie. Does she still seem believable, standing up to Alastor & turning his own deal against him? Tried to do a little throwback to the pilot, hope it worked. 🤞🏻Vaggie, too! Some of you have been asking about her, so here she is! 💓
> 
> I feel like she doesn't get enough credit. She's fiercely loyal, & cares about Charlie & her interests dearly. Also, it's apparent that she's got some sort of fighting skills to her name. She was absolutely kick-ass in the pilot, so I wanted to take a few creative liberties in showcasing that here. 💗 How was it? Is badass!Vaggie a thing you'd like to see more of...? 
> 
> As always, feedback is WELCOMED, ENCOURAGED, & APPRECIATED. To all of you who have been supporting me thus far...from the bottom of my 💗, THANK YOU. During these troubled times, it means MORE than I can properly express. I am HONORED to be able to entertain you all, & will continue striving to do so. So far after this update, I have...nine Chapters left in storage, & will continue to write more as postings progress. Don't wanna leave y'all hanging. 😉💖 
> 
> Until next update, take care & be safe. And, as our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	5. I've Always Liked To Play With Fire. That Shit's RAD, Yo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the body count rises, and the newly-addressed 'Alastor' takes his freedom in stride...Charlie's sanity continues to waver. It isn't helped any by an aversion to touch, and the literal war zone that awaits beyond the stairs. This was NOT what she'd ever had in mind for a 'wild party'!

As they made their way over the crumbling blockades before the blown-out doorway, Charlie accepting Alastor's hand this time around now that there were no strings attached, the crimson demon posed a question to her. Granted, it wasn't one she hadn't had to answer before, but given the circumstances they were in, it seemed a rather odd moment to be wondering such a thing.

“Charlie, hm? Does that, perhaps, stand for something?” 

Carefully taking in the solid ground beneath her feet in the pitch-black hallway – how could Alastor see so well, anyway? Demonic abilities? - Charlie looked towards him with an expression both baffled and slightly bewildered. If he really could see in the dark, then he'd have no problem identifying the look on her features. “Ah? What? I-I mean, yeah, it does, but why are you asking that now, of all times?” As her fingers twitched, Charlie realized that Alastor still hadn't let them go...

A tilt of the head then. “Well, since we are to be working together now, it makes sense that we should get to know each other a bit better, yes?” His eyes flashed for a second, casting a faint glow about them. “After all, you seem to have already made yourself familiar with my moniker.” Wait, what? How had she - oh, right. Quite alert, he was; she'd almost forgotten. He was referring to her earlier slip, when she'd called him 'Al'. 

But then again, he kept calling her all manner of other nicknames – some which sounded far too friendly and familiar for her liking. How was she really going to argue with him on that one, though? His whole persona seemed to thrive off of a mix of the classic gentleman aesthetic, the flamboyance of a theater rat, and triggering as many reactions in those around him as possible. Figuring that she could at least humor his one point, that they did need to be more comfortable with each other as long as this partnership was a thing, Charlie opened her mouth to reply -

“Hey, down that way! There she is!” Great. Just _great_. Not only was she interrupted, but it was by more thugs. Most likely sniffing around to follow in their fearless leader's footsteps after he'd stormed the upper levels. Finally pulling her hand free from Alastor's grip – wait, **pulling?** Was he really holding on that tightly? - Charlie was already scrambling behind him. 

She could be honest here. What could she do against these guys, practically? She didn't know how to fight hand-to-hand, nor could she use weapons. She had none on her, either.

Well...unless you counted...

“The boss man hasn't reported in yet, and the lower level is almost completely under control! So we came here for backup!” Charlie felt her blood run cold at hearing that. They'd overrun the bottom floor? Then, did that mean...that Vaggie...?!

“Miss Charlie.” She was startled from her panic, by the smooth rasp in her ear. Alastor was leaning down, back turned towards the rapidly approaching footsteps and flashlights that would soon have them in their sights. “There are four of them. How do you wish to proceed?” Her heart thudded hard; was Al asking her...what to do here? How should she know? She could barely even see!

The stomping footfalls came to a halt before them, and Charlie had to squint as the beams caught in her vision. Raising her hand to block her eyes from the glare, she could feel Alastor straighten beside her, turning to regard them like a smoothly dragging record. She heard the collective wonderings among the gathered group.

“What the hell...?” One of them had moved his light from Charlie, to focus entirely on Alastor instead. Yet again, the demon didn't react, expression unchanging, eyes still wide open, just like his smile. How he could do that, Charlie had no idea. Just a single flash in her gaze was enough to blind her painfully for a few seconds.

“Oi, who's this clown? Boss never said nothin' 'bout anybody else up here!” The second guy was making a motion towards his waist; Charlie guessed it was either for some sort of communication device, or another weapon. So, the captain had still been in contact with his troops when they'd broken through the boundary in the bedroom. 

The guy beside him let out a yell of frustration. “She's _right there!_ Just get rid of the string bean!” Yeesh. Not the greatest descriptor there. Sure, Alastor had a lean build, but she knew better than to be fooled by appearances. He could easily lift two full-grown men – and **not** only with his hands, either.

“Ugly sonovabitch! What, is he some kinda bodyguard or something?” The last male was already cocking his gun. “Where the _fuck_ is the boss? Shouldn't he have taken care of this?! Don't tell me this guy actually gave him trouble!” He was aiming straight for Alastor's head. The creature wasn't making any sort of attempt to change his stance. Even as he faced the mini-mob, his attention was focused entirely on Charlie alone.

“Master Charlie Magne.” Oh good grief! The blonde thought her heart was about to burst! That was way too much to attach to her person! She was nobody's Master! She couldn't even always take care of herself! Fighting to ignore the flush in her cheeks, she hissed at him. “ _ **No!**_ No 'Master'! Just 'Charlie'!” A soft chuckle filtered into her hearing as a response. 

“Very well, then. _Charlie-belle..._ ” That wasn't really any better, but fine! She'd accept it! “These men are standing in our way. They are part of the current dire straights that you find yourself in. What do you wish to do here?” Again, what kind of question was that??

She tried not to flail, as the other three males were joining the first in taking aim as well. She didn't have much time. “Well, get past them, obviously! Is that not clear?!” Another chuckle. How the heck could he be laughing at a time like this?? Was everything just funny that way to demons, or was he the exception? They – well, she anyway, was about to be rendered into Swiss cheese in just a few shots! 

Suddenly, an arm swung out, straight across her chest. Alastor's focus was entirely on the four gathered before them. “That's **not** what I'm asking, Miss Magne. I want to know, **what are your orders?** ” This time, his head tilted downwards, just slightly, regarding her over his shoulder. Again, that flash of scarlet from his irises and sclera, reflecting off of his monocle. The sides of his smile drew up just a tad higher. What was that supposed to signify...? 

“What do you want me to do with them?” That was when it all clicked for Charlie: he was asking her, if she wanted him to...to do, what he'd done, to the other group of grunts and their leader. If she wanted him to...

...to _**kill**_ them.

Charlie wasn't able to reply, as a stream of gunfire started in on them. Letting out a shriek, she ducked down, helplessly raising both of her arms in an attempt to provide some sort of shield.

But instead, she was embraced against a solid chest, spinning to wrap long arms about her petite form. Now, her face was buried in foreign fabric, and a scent that she couldn't quite place. She could feel the rounds ricocheting off of the sturdy figure that held her close, and in horror, she looked upwards quickly, locking eyes with her unintended champion. 

If Alastor had any sort of reaction to the bullets striking him, he was doing well to hide it. His wide eyes were shaded by languid lids, as he regarded her in his grasp. Charlie's heart was racing, as he lowered his head, to address her once again.

“Charlie-belle...that expression is not necessary. There is no need to worry.” Again, the jolt of her pulse. By now, the discharge had stopped, as the four were taking a moment to either survey their handiwork – or wonder why their target hadn't yet fallen over. Alastor's voice was even and smooth, almost stupefying. He knew what he could do, and so did she. It was simply a matter of her decision. “All I ask from you...is instruction.” 

His breath was warm, grazing her cheeks and lips as she continued to stare up at him. Carefully, he helped her back up on her feet, and again, she could hear the spent shells clattering upon the floor, like loose change. A murmur of disbelief rippled through the gathered ensemble at the sight. “What the...no way...”

Charlie wasn't violent. She didn't want anyone else to get hurt. If she could have her way, both sides would've been spared, no questions asked. Yes, even after everything that had happened this night. 

At the same time...these guys didn't operate under that same mentality. They wouldn't stop until they'd gotten what they wanted: her money, and then her death. If it weren't for Vaggie first, and now Alastor, Charlie would've been dead ten times over. No matter if she supposedly possessed Hell-powers, she was still all too apparently human. 

She wasn't vengeful. In this case however, it was a matter of survival. And she didn't have time to play the pacifist. If she were already a demon in blood anyway...

Swallowing hard, Charlie made her choice. “Please, Al. Get us through this. Don't let them...stand in our way, any longer.” Once more, the lever was pulled. Slowly turning to face his opponents one last time, Alastor proceeded to crack his neck and shoulders, taking a few steps forward. Using what light there was, Charlie scurried off, pressing herself up against the farthest wall as tightly as she could. She knew what was coming.

“H-Hey, you creepy fucker! What's your game here?? You packin' armor or someth - ” The man didn't get a chance to finish his statement. In three moves, Alastor had taken control. As though he were gliding across the floor, in the blink of an eye, he stood before the speaker. In another strike, he'd disarmed him, large rifle now in his grasp. And in the last motion: with a powerful thrust forwards, followed by a sickening crackle and squishing, drowning out the gasp of shock in its wake... 

...he'd rammed the front of the gun straight through the man's abdomen. Oh. _Ohh_ , okay then! So, basically...Alastor could stab anybody with anything. This was one of the takeaways Charlie had gleaned from her interactions with the monster man tonight. Anything and everything was a weapon in his hands. His hands, on their own, were weapons, and not in the usual sense of punching or choking, either. Good to know...?

“SHIT!” The other three were breaking away, lights going crazy like strobes as they jumped aside to create as much distance between them and the hellish being Charlie had no choice but to call her savior. At best, all she could do was duck her head, and cover her ears this time around, as Alastor began his 'work'. 

Some of the sounds, at least, were blocked out thanks to her trembling hands. She could feel the still fresh wound pressing into her right ear, and knew that she'd be winding up with yet more bloodstains to her already lambasted visage. She would just be glad to have both of her ears, and the rest of her appendages, throughout all of this disorder. 

As she crouched against the wall, trying not to allow the tremors to take over her form fully, a sudden pressure upon her shoulder nearly made her jump about three feet into the air. The scream from her raw throat was held back, which Charlie was grateful for, because at this point, she wouldn't have been surprised if her erratically pounding heart went right along with it.

At her frantic reaction, she received a hearty laugh for her troubles. Whether it was natural or not, Charlie felt some sort of relief flood through her body like a strange chemical substance, both repulsive and numbing in its wake. She could take solace in the fact that it was none other than her sadistic, supernatural antihero calling for her attention. 

Fixing him warily with a reserved, frightened, and overtaxed stare, Charlie took in his state as he stood before her: just as bloody and optimistic as ever. His hand was still touching her, though for the moment she made no action to remove it. But she was certain that it would leave yet another mark behind. “So, I'm – I'm guessing, that it's...” A slow breath in, as she forced herself to acknowledge the obvious. “It's done? They're gone?” 

Alastor's wide smile didn't waver, and neither did his voice falter. “Yes indeed! I disposed of them, as you requested of me! Didn't even break a sweat, though I did appreciate the warm-up!” Another laugh then, complete with a laugh track, minus his microphone, as Charlie felt her stomach lurch. It was so easy for him, not just to...well, take lives, but to completely detach the actions from his conscience. Even knowing him as a demon...it was still unsettling. 

Hadn't he mentioned being human in his past? Had it been so simple for him to disengage back then, too? Just what kind of person had he been while alive...? A quiet gulp then; Charlie didn't want to dwell on it for too long. But...

...perhaps Hell _**wasn't**_ his first exposure to ruthless slaughter.

“Miss Magne.” Instantly, his low tones, coupled with that soft static, and a squeeze of her shoulder, wrested her attention back to his looming figure. He stood above her, with that preening expression of mirth. So obviously satisfied in his conquest and prowess. “Are you ready to move on?”

Realizing that, yes, they had no more reason to linger about up here, Charlie uncurled her posture, preparing to make her away around him as best she could. It wasn't like Alastor knew the layout of her manor. Even if she couldn't see worth a damn, it was on her to forge the way. 

Before she could make any sort of distance however, she felt herself being yanked back. Charlie almost swore, as one of her ankles wobbled dangerously. Sandals were **not** her friend in this situation. Shooting an exasperated glare upwards, towards the male who was continuously insisting on invading her personal space...

...Charlie didn't get a chance to retort as, in one swing, she was effortlessly scooped up off her feet. Now, she found herself in the lengthy, sturdy arms of the so-called Radio Demon. Her face was burning about 100 degrees hotter, as she tried not to flail the wrong way, lest she fall forwards and crack her head open. 

That was, if he actually let her go...with the current grip Alastor had upon her, Charlie couldn't help but feel as though she were the single most important thing to him, in that moment. It was apparent that she wasn't going to get a say in this, gazing towards his face. Alastor was as composed as ever, and replied without missing a beat to her unspoken question. 

“Although I do admire your enthusiasm for direction and leadership, I believe our time would be better spent if we could maximize distance covered, and reach our destination as soon as possible.” A quick glance downwards, followed by a wink. Ohh _no_ , that _**shouldn't**_ be able to make her pulse skyrocket! “Besides, as much as a gentleman is not meant to inquire towards such matters...you're as light as a feather, dear Charlie-belle.” 

No words. She had absolutely none, as Alastor prepared to make his way down the lengthy extended hall. Nothing towards the current situation, at least, but...

“Charlotte!” The sudden cry caused him to halt effectively. Now, he was casting a perplexed stare down towards her, static seeming to flicker about him, as though echoing his confusion. That smile of his stayed firmly in place, however. Letting out a sigh, and readying herself for whatever lay ahead, Charlie proceeded to elaborate. “Earlier, you asked me...about my name. Well, that's what it stands for. Charlotte. Charlie's just a nickname. Because I don't like my full name. Umm.” Trying not to fidget with her hands, all she could do instead, was wrap her arms around his neck. “That's it.” 

Huh, did he actually...twitch, at that? Well what, did he expect her to just drop her arms uselessly, and flop over like a fish? No way, not when he was the one who was insisting on this clingy arrangement in the first place. He didn't attempt to push her away or remove her grasp, but it was blatant by his reply that yes, her initiated touch was having an effect on him. 

“I see. Well then.” It was in both of their best interests if they just got on with things, so Charlie gave him whatever instructions she could manage, as they finally headed off. Their pace was certainly heightened, and in no time at all, they were on the ground level, where at least a few of the lights were yet working. 

“Oh...oh, no...please, no...” However, the sight that awaited them upon arrival...was **not** one that Charlie could've been prepared for. Hell, it wasn't one that anyone would've been ready for; nobody with a normally untouched psyche, anyhow! 

Carefully, Alastor lowered her to the floor, and as her arms released their hold around him, she swore she felt a tension leave his body. Yeah, he'd **definitely** been sketched out by her touch. How did that make sense? He'd had no problem whatsoever reaching out to her, practically stealing her air with how close he would draw, making all sorts of motions and gestures towards her...

...but when she had to handle him, suddenly he was disturbed? Just what was this guy's deal, anyway? She'd already been poking at him earlier when he'd first laid out the madness that was her supposed family tree; what was so different now with this kind of contact??

A stab of ice, straight to her heart. Later. That could be mulled upon later, whenever that sort of later would arrive. For now...Charlie had far greater – or worse – things to worry about. Trying her very best to hold back a sob, she had no choice but to take in the extensive damages that were laid out before her.

It wasn't the destruction of property that hurt her. It wasn't like she didn't have the money or means to repair that much. No, she wasn't so superficial as to be bothered by something so trivial. What was causing her chest to tense, and her stomach to clench, as her dark eyes scanned helplessly over the war-zone that greeted her at the bottom of the stairs...

...were the dead bodies, scattered about like grotesque mannequins, arranged in all manner of twisted positions, and various states of battery. The air was overwhelmingly consolidated with the scent of weaponry and blood, and Charlie was certain she was going to puke before this night was over, at least once. She could practically feel the strawberry wine, once so sweet, creeping back up her throat. Along with the acidic bile, and whatever she might've eaten, however little, before everything had come crashing down on her.

She could still hear the faintest traces of voices and gunfire; of course there were living grunts on this level. Not all of them had come upstairs. Counting the boss, the set that had arrived with him, and the ones who'd shown up afterwards, that was only nine. She hadn't bothered counting, in the heat of the moment, exactly how many guys had come storming through the entryway, but it made sense that there would be more here than up above. Since there was such a large crew gathered at the mansion, why on Earth would most of them be sent after her, instead of being applied as crowd control?

As her eyes raked over the destruction, Charlie had to take a few steps forward, even just haltingly. Some of the faces...she didn't recognize. They were either extended family, or friends that her guests had brought along. That only made the guilt and dread building up inside her worse, knowing that people who would've had no reason to be at her home otherwise had gotten caught in the crossfire. Her legs were beginning to shake once more, and her breaths were trembling, as the tears built in her vision. 

Her fault. It was all her fault. Why hadn't she done better? Why hadn't she thought of implementing more security measures in place once her folks had dipped out? Why hadn't she paid attention – it wasn't as though she was entirely unaware that her folks had enemies! She'd just been so caught up in her own stress and grief, that – that – that – all of this had happened! 

And...she hadn't yet spotted Vaggie, either...

Just as the first tear was about to roll down her cheek, a sudden tapping of feet and a hum registered in Charlie's hearing. Alastor had come to stand beside her, mic-cane in hand as he too, took in the sights surrounding them. His expression was jolly as always. Momentarily, Charlie wondered if it was even possible for him to frown. How could he see all of this and just...be so calm?

“Well, those men certainly did a number on this place! Although, the decorum isn't quite to my taste as-is...they weren't as clean as they could've been. Such a waste – flash needs substance to truly leave an impression! The bigger the bang, the harder the impact! Or else, who are you really appealing to, other than your own ego?” What??

A sunny laugh, as Alastor turned his gaze down towards her. “I mean... **I** could make a bigger bang than this. It would look better, too. And that would suit my ego just fine! As you are already perfectly aware of my capabilities, Charlie-belle. Heh.” From the mic, surrounding him like an invisible aura of sound, came light chuckles and applause.

Charlie thought her watery eyes were going to pop out of her skull. Her jaw was hanging like laundry on the line. Was this creature seriously...critiquing the massacre in her home, as though it were an art piece?! 

Feeling a new wave of horror and, unexpectedly, rage, welling up inside her, Charlie rounded on him. Hopefully, their new contract would grant her a freebie here. “You _**monster!**_ What, is this a joke to you?! People have _died_ here! They didn't deserve this! I couldn't – couldn't do a damn thing to help them! A-And now, now I – I don't know what to do here! There's still guys tearing up the place, and my friend – Vaggie is still missing, and all this other stuff, that you've told me, and I just – I just - ” 

By now, the tears were coming close to overflowing, and Charlie was no longer looking at Alastor. She just wanted to sink straight into the Earth, all the way straight to the core – no, straight to Hell. That's where she belonged anyway, right? Even if she hadn't supposedly had such a hellish legacy, it would've been quite the suitable place for her and her blameworthy soul. All these people, whose blood she bore on her hands. She couldn't turn back time. There was absolutely nothing she could do here, and the madness still wasn't over yet, and now, on top of it all -

“Ah-ah-ah.” Suddenly, hands. Hands upon her person. A long finger was resting against her lips, extended to gently shush any further protests or sobs. The other was reaching out, to slowly brush away the building tears under her eyes, and the lone straggler upon her flushed cheek. Traveling upwards, Charlie locked her wavering gaze on Alastor's, and her breath hitched in her throat. The look on his face...

Yes, he was still grinning. But it was so...uncannily tender, foreign to his features, it was almost too much to regard. “Smile. I already told you dear, you're never fully dressed without one.” Those same words, yet again. As intimidating as he might've seemed, it was clear that the gesture meant something to this fearsome figure. His voice was softer, encouraging. In spite of herself and her earlier outburst, Charlie found her mouth attempting to tug upwards. 

“There you go. Much better...” He trailed off with a delicate hiss. His eyes flashed, as with slow, vaguely teasing motions, he brought his fingers to his own lips...and lapped at the water upon the stained digits. Charlie felt that all-too-familiar skip of her heart then, watching his tongue flick in and out and around. Why was he...?!

“Hm...no, no. I _**far**_ prefer your blood.” And there went the moment, right out the window. How could he jump, from happy to psychotic, to warm and then orderly, and then finally suggestive followed by jokey? How? How?? Charlie deadpanned, as he removed his other hand from her mouth, and turned slightly. He extended his arm with mic in hand, motioning around to the havoc surrounding them. “No more crying now, Miss Magne. I do believe...that we still have a job to do, yes?” 

It was at that very moment, that a batch of grunts burst forth from the door beside the kicked-in entryway, at their left. It led to the first main room, and to another extended hallway. From the right, nearer to the kitchen, came another bunch, this time from the office area. Charlie could feel the chill sliding down her spine; there were definitely more than nine guys here this time - !

Immediately, an arm had wrapped around her, pulling her in close, flush against his side. Charlie forced down the butterflies, as she stared up towards her gory knight in crimson pinstripe pattern. His face was calm, smile still in place. The mic was now in the corner of her eye, as he extended his empty left hand outwards, seeming to beckon the men closer. As if they really needed an invite, though. They were already screeching and frothing at the mouth, storming in and over with artillery in tow. Another onslaught of mockery and condemnation.

“Charlie-belle.” His voice was even. “There's nothing we can do for these...poor, unfortunate souls.” He was merely addressing the obvious; there was no compassion to be found in his tone. “However...you have the power to end this, here and now. **I** can end this for you, if you'd like.” His gaze was now trained on her, smugly assured that he knew her answer. “Just say the words, and it is done. What do you ask of me, dear Miss Magne?”

Her pulse was in chaos, her body was threatening to revolt, and her psyche was barely holding on. But at this point, there was no turning back. What would the cops be able to do here by now, anyway? What else could **she** do – just let these guys go, after everything that had happened? 

Painted lips pulled tight in a grim line. No. No, she couldn't. She knew what she had to do. What they had to do.

“Al...get it over with. End this...and them.” Charlie didn't bother drawing nearer for...whatever sort of stability or comfort further contact would've provided, not after how he'd reacted before. It didn't matter, though. That great grin looked like it was wide enough to bite off somebody's head, as his grip on her grew just a tad firmer. 

“As you wish.” Thin fingers snapped sharply. From the center of his left palm, a scarlet glow began to emanate. At the same time, the entire manor around them began to shake. If Charlie hadn't been held in place by the taller male, she probably would've fallen over. Some of the soldiers were losing their balance quite easily, unprepared for the sudden unnatural earthquake, and a few things that hadn't been completely shot off the walls or toppled over entirely were dropping to the ground.

Charlie watched, in utmost fascination, as those mysterious symbols and glitching began to swirl about Alastor's form once more. His fingers continued to writhe, as though threading through various strings, or conducting an invisible orchestra. The more they moved, the stronger the shakes grew, and the more vibrant the hue around them became. It was amazing that the house was still standing, what with all it had been through this evening.

At the same time...

“Wh-What the hell - ?!” The sudden shout wasn't what caught her attention. Charlie let out a yelp, as without warning, gigantic black tendrils – almost like the ones that his shadow would take the form of, or the ones that had healed his wounds prior, began to emerge from the floor, from rapidly extending, glowing red pits. Wherever they led, Charlie _**never**_ wanted to know. Forcing her gaze back to Alastor instead, she took note of just how wide his eyes and smile had become, how piercing their glare. 

Instead of the erratically spinning dials she'd grown used to seeing in his most intense moments however, his optics had become completely fogged over with crackling ruby static. Like a channel that had lost reception; the visual representation of a radio out of tune. The near howling white noise consuming them only served to cement that image.

On top of that...

 _Huh?_ There, in the center of his forehead, was something else that Charlie had never seen before: a red X. Almost like...how treasure would be marked on a map. Where had that come from? Why was it there? What did it mean? She didn't get an opportunity to elaborate any longer; the bizarre ritual was reaching its climax. The twisting tentacles were quickly engulfing the terrified grunts, not a one being able to escape their grasp. They were being violently flung and dragged, across the ground and into the walls. The heavily vibrating ground did not serve to make their attempted flight, or current abuse any easier. 

As this was happening, just as the ceremony was at its highest point, Charlie caught sight of a single drop of blood, dripping from Alastor's palm. Before she could react, his fist clenched tightly, sending the tiny amount of blood flying into nothing. With that, there was an unearthly _**roar**_...and what could only be described as the screams of the eternally damned. The remaining mercenaries were crushed and compressed into absolutely nothing, their bodies dragged down across and into the cursed portal conjured up from who knew where.

Then, in a puff of smoke...it was _gone_. All gone. The monsters, the grunts, the entryway, the tremors. Everything was back to normal...save for the ruination of her household, and the remaining dead bodies of her guests. Other than that, it was **fine**. As though some **other** frightful sort of demon hadn't just been summoned into the world, to do the dirty work of a cannibalistic creature in crimson. One who still had her clutched closely into his side, grinning dementedly, wider that she'd ever seen, with angled eyes alight from the sheer high of catastrophic mayhem and slaughter...

A few more moments of jarring silence. True silence, which hadn't been experienced for what felt like forever. Then...

“H-Huh...?” 

“Hey...hey, the shaking's stopped! And-And it's quiet now...”

“No m-more guns...no more killing...?!”

“Are they – are they gone?” 

Those voices. Charlie knew, based on how winded and wary they sounded, didn't belong to any of their attackers. From somewhere off to the side, near the kitchen, she could hear a creak, followed by soft shuffling. 

That's right; they had a pantry, and a decent-sized one at that. Had someone gotten the bright idea to hide in there, at some point? It wouldn't hold too many people, and there was no lock. However, after the conflict had initially started, and the renegades had already made their sweeps through...it could've worked as a temporary shelter, just for a few.

 _So...there are some survivors?_ Even if it were only a handful, Charlie would take that over nobody at all. It didn't serve to lessen her burden any, but at least someone or other had made it out alive. 

However, she was immediately back on alert, feeling the solidity pressed into her side. Her paranormal protector was indeed, still quite visible – and from the farthest corner, Charlie caught sight of the shaken guests, starting to shamble forth from their shelter. 

_Ohh – oh, **no!** They can't - !_ Pulling away in haste, the blonde was about to tell Alastor to make tracks, if only for the moment.

“Urgh... 'cough' ...Ch-Charlie...?” Then, **that** voice. Charlie's current errant thoughts were immediately shoved to the wayside. **That** voice...belonged to the one person she'd wanted - no, _needed_ to see, more than anybody else. At least...she wasn't _**dead**_ , right? 

Slowly, Charlie turned around.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "We now return you to your regularly scheduled (programming) CLIFFHANGERS." Yeah...I warned y'all about this. Sorry. 😅
> 
> Thus, another Chapter complete. It seems that the original threat, AKA those party-crashing psychopaths, have been taken out completely. HOWEVER...the night's not over just yet. There's still PLENTY that needs to be taken care of - & the drama is just beginning. What's gonna happen to the mansion? What about the survivors? What about Vaggie? And, oh noes, but everybody can see Alastor, too - !!
> 
> First up: The action. I had a scene set up for another carnage fest featuring Alastor...but in the end, decided not to do it, simply glossing it over to instead focus on the end sequence. Was that a good decision? 
> 
> Although there IS much graphic violence in this story...I don't want that to be the ONLY thing people take away from this fic. I don't want the actual plot being buried under the gore & guts, otherwise...well, no matter HOW many different ways you can come up with to carve up a body, sooner or later, it's gonna get old. And old = repetitive. Repetitive = BORING. That's NOT what I'm going for here. I feel like there needs to be a balance. As much as I ADORE 'Hellsing', & the violence in the source material of 'Hazbin'...there's MUCH more to both series than just that.
> 
> Also, I know: Alastor's big finale is basically the same move he used on Sir Pen in the pilot. I thought that, given the circumstances here, & the fact that he needed something powerful & large enough to take out multiple enemies all at once - while obviously wanting them to suffer - it was a good method to end things on. Plus, after many viewings of the pilot, & witnessing various discussions, there were a few details that I wanted the chance to bring more focus to, via the written word, as opposed to just visuals. IDK...I wanted to have some fun with it.
> 
> Here, we also see, just the tiniest, awkward fragments, of future budding RadioBelle/Charlastor interactions. You might've actually noticed them already, across the last couple of Chapters - or not, because this is a MAJORLY fucked-up scenario to be going through, & any sorts of hints dropped, are going to be about as abnormal to a regular building relationship as possible. 
> 
> BUT - I NEVER promised that this story was going to be anything akin to a regular fairytale to begin with. FFS, it's inspired by 'HELLSING'. As much as I ADORE the fluff for this pairing - & TRUST me, I WILL do my best to include some of that here, too - on the whole, this entire setup...is unconventional, & not the sort of thing that would fly IRL. But hopefully, I can make it believable & entertaining, for what it's worth in this AU. As long as y'all have as much fun reading it as I do writing it, then it's all G in the H for me. 👍🏻❤️
> 
> So...yeah. I think that's about it. Don't wanna elaborate too much further, because next Chapter is gonna twist things just a bit further on its head. However, if any of y'all wanna let me know what you think so far, by all means. I'm all eyes/ears. Feedback is WELCOMED, ENCOURAGED, & APPRECIATED. Whether I'm tickling you pink, or have some rough edges that I could do to smooth out. Every comment has a place & purpose, & I treasure it all. For those of you who have joined me on this crazy journey this far, & showered me with your support: I 💓 you all, SO MUCH. I have up to Chapter Sixteen written, so updates shouldn't be stopping anytime soon [hopefully never, until this story's finished].
> 
> For now everyone, take care, & be safe. And, as our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	6. Hey, Ma - MA! I Put A Spell On Them! And Now, They're Gone!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sit a while, and let me spin you a spell...the charming Demon with the golden pipes has more than just physical prowess at his disposal. Even his voice is a weapon, and he is all too eager to show it off. But what does Vaggie have to say about his fine-tuned tricks?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!UPDATE!! MORE lovely fanart by our ever-talented Popoto! Give them a look-see & some 💖 over at Instagram! They're for both last Chapter & this one! The links are as follows:**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/

Everything around her had faded away, into a muffled backdrop of faint movement and expression. The last thoughts on her mind, and the panicked emotions of discovery in relation to her newly acquired secret, had all but evaporated into nothing. As soon as that familiar, albeit ragged feminine tone had entered her hearing, Charlie had dropped every last issue at hand, to instead regard the woman who was now staggering forth from inside that lone bathroom facing the stairs. 

Those very same stairs that she'd been ushering her towards in such a hurry how long ago. 

Truthfully, Charlie couldn't be sure when the assault had started, but now that it was just about over, she didn't care. All that mattered to her, as she broke free from Alastor's side, heels clacking over the cracked and dirty floors, was...

“ _ **Vaggie!**_ ” The woman's lone, visible golden eye lit up just so, at seeing her dear friend, unharmed if not tidy. The majority of the blood stains upon her were not of her own essence, something which Vaggie realized as soon as Charlie reached her, enveloping her into a warm, tender, thoughtful hug. By the looks of things, her companion hadn't had it quite as easy as she. She'd been lucky, in a terribly cursed way, to have stumbled upon Alastor when she did. Vaggie's survival had come about entirely by her own two hands, one of which was still wrapped around her trusty snake dagger. Thus, the blonde made sure not to cause her any further potential pain.

“Charlie...oh, thank God. You're alive. You're alive...” Vaggie had no idea how Charlie had managed it, but she really could've cared less. It was a miracle, sure, and that was all Vaggie could ask for. A fucking miracle that her sunshine was still in one piece, that those assholes hadn't been able to lay a single finger on her. She hadn't heard anything beyond the general combat, and then that strange ruckus and unexplainable shaking just a few minutes prior, but... “D-Did you manage...to call the cops, or anyone?” 

A rough inhale then, and Vaggie's arm tightened around her abdomen. She was still steady enough on her feet, and forced herself to focus entirely on Charlie. The blonde was already zeroing in on her arm, gasping and fussing over the bloody makeshift bandage. Vaggie reassured her, that there was nothing wrong, that it was just a flesh wound - “Y'know, like the Black Knight? We-We haven't...watched that movie in – in ages, huh Hon?” A cough then, as her throat caught, and – oh no. Oh no oh no _ohnoohno **ohno**..._

She could taste it. She could feel it. The blood was trickling out, from the corner of her lips. Her body was beginning to sway in place. Her vision was starting to blur. The warmth around her arm...was already spilling over. And the _pain_...that _**pain**_...!

She'd been able to hold it together when it had first happened. She'd been able to hold it together when she'd, by the skin of her teeth, wrestled that bastard to the floor, stomped him square in the groin, and then stabbed him straight through the temple. She'd been able to hold it together when she'd had to practically shove herself back onto her feet from the floor, and skulk, off-balance, towards the lone little guest restroom. 

By this point, the conflict had moved on to the rest of the lower floor; nobody seemed to have made it upwards, beyond the group who'd first taken off after Charlie. And she'd done her best to save whoever she could; aside from that one woman, she'd managed to also herd a couple of siblings, and an elderly gentleman in the same direction. Vaggie had been reaching her limit, with no sight of reinforcements on the way. And she couldn't relax just yet, no matter how tired her body, or how much everything now throbbed and stung and bled and shuddered and hitched...

Hold on. She had to hold on. She needed to know that Charlie was okay. She needed to cling to whatever was left of her life, until she could look her beloved in the eye. She _could_ do that. She _would_ do that! She was Vagatha, for fuck's sake! She wasn't just a pretty face that needed to be cared for! She was a warrior! Always had been, always would be! 

Charlie was the one she'd chosen to devote herself to; **she** was the pretty face who was more than deserving of her protection, whatever form it came in. She was the one who'd helped Vaggie find the reason to bother sticking around on this miserable planet to begin with, when as a struggling adolescent, she'd been just about ready to lay down and die. Charlie had come along, like the softest, sweetest little kick in the pants, a rainbow with all the force of a bazooka, who'd given her the strength to face her personal demons, square off, and move on. 

Now though...now though...ohh, _**now**_...!

“Vaggie?” Charlie had been over the moon, seeing the dark-haired woman coming towards her, beat-up but alive, giving her a crooked grin. Witnessing Vaggie smile wasn't a common occurrence, at least for anybody who wasn't Charlie. She knew this from experience; Vaggie had just about told her as much. That, no matter how bad it got, she'd always try to manage one, if only for her. To see that little gesture, even after all that had happened, was enough to warm Charlie's heart with a fresh swell of gratitude. Her closest, oldest, solitary friend – if it hadn't been for Vaggie, she wouldn't have been able to escape in the first place. She wouldn't have...

The woman had asked her about the authorities, and Charlie had been at a loss for words then; there was no way in Hell that any of this could be handled by the police. Nobody on the outside could be allowed to see any of this – it would be all over the news in a matter of hours, and they'd never hear the end of it! So many things had transpired tonight, things which Charlie still had no explanation for, but was forced to accept the existence of. For crying out loud, she didn't even have any idea how she was going to tell Vaggie about -

Suddenly, the coughing. The slumping. Vaggie was in agony, even as she'd forced herself to hold back the cries. It was when Charlie had practically lunged to catch her in her arms, that she'd remembered and realized...

...Vaggie's dress **hadn't** naturally been that color from the beginning. Not in the center, and certainly _not_ that shade of deep scarlet.

“Oh...oh, God...” The stain flowing forth through the front of her dinner gown was enormous, and showed no signs of stopping. Charlie let out a strangled sob, instantly helping to lay her friend upon the ground gently, not sure whether to press down or leave it be. So much blood - ! Head whipping back and forth frantically, Charlie's vision zeroed in immediately on one of the couch throws off a short distance away. Reassuring Vaggie through blubbering lips, the blonde scurried to grab it and rush back, wadding it up and carefully placing it against the open wound. 

How? _How_ had this happened? Why her? **Why Vaggie?!**

“Urgh...sorry, Hon. One of those f-fuckers...he kinda surprised me. That's all...” It hurt. It hurt so bad. Vaggie was no stranger to suffering. And although tonight had been her first experience with the impact of a bullet, she hadn't been expecting it to go any further than the one lodged in her upper arm. She could deal with that. She would. She had. For what had felt like an eternity, until the ache had become nothing more than a minor irritation.

Then... _that_ guy. He had ambushed her, just as she'd dove around the corner of the hall door on the ground floor, hearing another scream nearby. She'd thought that maybe, just **maybe** , there was one more person she could rescue. One more. _One more._ But, before she'd been able to reach them, the grunt had leapt out, rifle in hand as he'd let loose. 

She'd been quick enough to prevent getting turned into multiple target practices – but not to avoid getting hit entirely. As she'd let out a screech of curses, she'd attempted one more slide into home, ignoring the tearing sensation on her tender midsection before he could readjust his aim to the ground below. Pulling him down, she'd gotten rid of that gun, tore into him with her heels, and then her knife.

It didn't change anything, though. The second bullet was buried somewhere in her middle. Somewhere she couldn't afford to be injured. She'd taken one more blow than what she'd been prepared for. And she couldn't go back. She had to accept her fate, accept the damage, and keep marching. She had to survive.

But. It. _Still. Fucking. **Hurt**._

Charlie was rapidly descending into a tailspin. Yes, the terrorists were good and gone. And, although many lives had been lost, there were at least a few faces who'd been saved. She was willing to bet that it was thanks to Vaggie this had happened. So then why, why, _why_ , if she had risked her life saving others...

...why was her own life being offered up instead?! 

It was child's logic. Charlie knew this. It was pointless of her to ask. Of course, in a situation like this, if you were willing to put yourself on the line, there was a good chance that bad things would happen. This wasn't like the movies, where the villains were the only ones who got hurt, and the heroes saved the day without any losses. This was real life, as macabre and inconceivable as it may've been to consider. 

A reality where Hell and demons existed, where she was Lucifer's daughter, where she now had a psychotic, paranormal hitman working for her out of a personal debt. A reality where kind people – or at least, the affluent and misguided – lost their lives when they'd originally come out to celebrate. A reality where the usual 'good guys', the cops, had no business sniffing around in this aftermath. A reality where the future was uncertain, terrifying, and quite possibly empty of more than just reassurance and healing.

Charlie's future might very well be one without Vaggie. And it was a future she absolutely refused to accept.

By now, the remaining four guests were already growing more vocal about the circumstances. They'd caught sight of Charlie, kneeling and hyperventilating over her lying prone friend. Their reactions were a mixture of things; one was happy, beside herself to see Charlie unharmed. One was horrified to see Vaggie in the state she was, seeing as she'd been the one to usher her into safety. That was the first woman, Vaggie could tell by the shrill voice. The third, a male, was letting out expletives, about how this was a nightmare, and how was Charlie going to fix any of this? If she could've, Vaggie would've punched him right in the face. 

The last one, though...

“Miss Charlotte, I-I don't mean to pry, but...who is this?” It was uttered by a timid elderly man, and only when that question reached her ears, loathsome uttered first name and all...a large hand landed on her shoulder. In that instant, Charlie realized...everybody gathered could see Alastor, in all of his demonic glory. 

Nearly slamming her fists into the blanket bunched up upon Vaggie, Charlie whirled around -

The figure that greeted her was not what she'd expected to see, at all. She hadn't even known him that long, but already, the crimson visage had been burned into her retinas. So, the decidedly normal face staring back at her was far more of a surprise than she'd ever experienced, regarding another person. It took her a few moments to calm her irregularly pounding heart, and force herself to accept that this creature, this being Alastor...was just full of tricks.

Wine red eyes were fixed upon her own, behind a thin-rimmed pair of glasses that slipped a bit forwards upon the bridge of his nose. Slightly tanned skin, with short, choppy brown locks, made up the rest of the angular male face that smiled back at her, through closed lips. No longer garishly outstretched, or with dagger-like golden fangs to be seen here. He was still noticeably tall, but his eye-catching crimson attire had been replaced by a simple white dress shirt, deep garnet vest - okay, the red theme wasn't entirely gone, just subdued - black bowtie, and matching slacks. The same shoes were still in place, as were the gloves, with his sleeves rolled up and held with bands. Aside from the bloodstains, he looked...so _unbelievably **human**._

Below her, Charlie heard Vaggie cough; it was apparent that she too, was looking up at this stranger, wondering for all the world who he was, and how he knew her. Alastor was already leaning down, ignoring the questions from the other guests. He was focused on her alone, and if Charlie's flustered expression at his unexpected change in appearance registered with him, he didn't acknowledge it. Either that, or he was saving his answer for another time.

“Miss Magne...how do you wish to proceed from here? It seems that we are all that's left of your gathering. At least, the _hooligans_ appear to have retreated, but...we are not out of the woods just yet.” His voice was nearly the same as when he'd borne his demonic outer presence, save for the absence of the static and overload of enthusiasm. Certainly, this creature was skilled at adapting to the situation. Briefly, his gaze flickered down to Vaggie, struggling to hold on. Even in her frail state, she felt that sudden clench of her heart, as those dark eyes seemed to momentarily flash a vivid scarlet. 

_Who the hell is this...?!_ The expression he bore was unsettling, and in her near comatose state, Vaggie couldn't even offer up any sort of protest, as Charlie addressed him with teary eyes, and a broken voice speckled with hiccups. “A-Al, what do I – I don't know! You're all – l-like that, and how can we even – and everybody's dead, a-and the cops – and Vaggie! I need - I need to help Vaggie! I need to - ”

He proceeded to place a long, gloved finger to her lips, bringing his face in close to her ear. Vaggie couldn't hear a word being uttered, and it was only serving to exacerbate the agonizing ache in her body; this creepy butler-looking jerk, being so friendly with **her** Charlie, and she was completely unaware of his intentions - ! 

Was he a random guest, who'd just been glossed over, and had managed to find her in the chaos? Was he a worker, who'd somehow shown up tonight, of all nights? When she'd gotten older, Charlie hadn't kept on most of the hired help, since it was just her in the manor. She hadn't been aiming to impress anybody, nor had she wanted people constantly hovering over her for no reason. Her life had been uneventful enough that she'd felt guilty employing so many for barely any sort of real work. 

Unbeknownst to Vaggie, all of her ideas were wrong. As for what Alastor was whispering into Charlie's hearing...

“There are only a few people left here. The antagonists have been dealt with; however, I believe it's safe to say that there's still quite a bit of clean-up required. I'm assuming that you'd prefer your remaining acquaintances to make it out alive, so I **won't** suggest that particular option.” Good. Based off of what she'd seen of him tonight, it had seemed that erasure via death was one of, if not Alastor's only specialty. Was it wrong for her to say that she was relieved in discovering that this wasn't the case? 

“I do have a few _other_ methods at my disposal though – it's just a matter of whether you trust me to employ them.” Jeez, his breath was so warm, and – wait a minute, did his tongue just flick at the shell of her ear?? Holding back a startled wail, Charlie allowed him to continue on, lest she slip up and say something to make things worse. “Don't worry, they're _humane_. The only thing lost is a few hours of life – sorry, **memory**.” He'd changed that last word, feeling how rigid Charlie had become at that utterance. _Memory, huh...?_ Just what was he suggesting?

Vaggie could tell, even while weakened: this guy was having some sort of effect on Charlie. And she didn't like it one bit. “Ch-Charlie...who is this guy? H-How does he – no, **why** is he -” 

This time, the shushing finger came to rest upon her lips instead. It was then that Vaggie caught sight, however fleetingly, of the near hole in Charlie's palm. Her tired eye grew wider, but she wasn't permitted to respond. “Please, Vaggie...d-don't worry about me. It'll be okay...we'll b-be okay, everything's okay, g-got it? Don't – Don't strain yourself.” It almost seemed as if she were repeating this to herself more than anyone else. 

Slowly, her head turned slightly, regarding Alastor at an angle. The smile on his face seemed to stretch just a bit wider, as Charlie replied softly. 

“Do it, Al. Take c-care of this.” 

Why she was granting herself so much trust in this bloodthirsty being, Charlie didn't know. At the same time, Alastor **was** bound to her to a certain degree. That was the agreement they'd come to; out of his appreciation towards her 'saving' him, as it were, he was willing to do whatever she asked, so long as he could keep his freedom. Based off of everything that had happened tonight, it was highly unlikely that Charlie's life was going to revert back to any sort of normalcy, so he'd be sure to get his kicks from here on out. On top of all that...

He had abilities that now, seemed to hint at more than just mass slaughter. Obviously, he could change his appearance. Whether this was a permanent thing, or just a temporary feature, Charlie didn't know. But she was appreciative, seeing as an unfamiliar face was _far_ easier to explain away than a straight-up monster. And now, he was claiming to be able to deal with their issues on a whole other level: namely, a cover-up. 

There was no way, in **any** dimension, that Charlie could explain what had occurred here tonight, be it to the authorities, the papers, or even to her remaining guests. It would take something not of this Earth to solve things – in a way that _didn't_ involve more dead bodies. If Alastor was offering such an out, then, questionable as it may've been, she had no choice. Once more, he was her only salvation. 

Returning her gaze downwards towards her dearest friend, fighting for her life, Charlie felt her expression soften, as she brushed a few strands of hair away from her gaze. If anything, she could take solace in the fact that she'd be able to more fully focus on caring for Vaggie. Once everybody else was sorted out, then she could figure out how to deal with the young woman's wounds, dire as they were. 

Cleaning up the graveyard that remained of her home was just going to have to go on the back-burner for the time being.

“'Ahem'...if I may, ladies and gentleman.” Alastor had straightened his pose, and was now regarding the four figures, who stared back at him in various states of fear and anxiety. His expression was calm and collected, one hand behind his back while the other adjusted the bowtie at his throat. Charlie could practically see the imaginary spotlight trained on him, as he continued to address the gathered group.

“As we are all well-aware...there has been **much** tragedy here on these grounds tonight. I, along with the rest of you, am still futilely trying to understand why things had to happen as they did – and where to go from here. I mean, before tonight, I was merely Alastor - a simple man, a radio caster who'd been approached by his beloved to attend a cozy gathering for a family friend!” _Nice cover story, I guess...?_ “I didn't know anything beyond the Magne name; I'm certain, for quite a few of those who attended tonight, this was the same or similar set of circumstances they found themselves in as well.” Charlie could feel her jaw, once more, threatening to detach and stroll right off without her.

This guy...was it just part and parcel of being a demonic entity? Or, while at one point a human, had he been blessed with performative skills and a silver tongue to rival even that of the serpent in the garden? She could see it, though she wasn't sure if it was really there, or even meant to be visible: the lights dimming in the gazes of her guests, as they absorbed the lies he so charmingly fed them, complete with a few sniffles and long pauses. Perhaps he had been a host in his past life, and it wasn't just a random, on the spot story? 

But, she would've both been unsurprised, and shocked, if she'd seen any actual tears escape his eyes, human though he may've looked now. That smile was still present upon his features. Just, not nearly as darkly dazzling in its placement. But neither did it hold any sort of good intentions.

“Yes, my dearest belle – I was there, in those last moments, as she – she cried out, falling to her knees, when the bullet...lodged itself in her back, and...left this world, in my arms...” A brief tremor wracked his lean frame, as he raised a hand to his face. The energy surrounding him was one of grief and commanding, as at least one of the remaining four had begun crying in silent solidarity. “I'm sorry. A-A moment, please...I must try to compose myself. That's... _what she would've wanted..._ ”

Slowly, the hand lowered, and heavily shaded wine eyes regarded the gathered figures with a new questioning. “And that's...what **all** of your loved ones would've wished for **you too** , _yes?_ To **move on** , and _not_ allow yourselves to become such battered shells of who you once were...to **live in the moment, for the future** , and _not_ to **cling to the past?** ” 

For whatever reason, Charlie could feel her own eyelids wanting to lower, as though due to a pressure she couldn't place. The aura building in the air was oppressively comforting, and she was certain, even if she was the only one who could identify it, she wasn't the only one having a reaction. Like puppets on a string, their heads nodded along, in reply to his question. A twitch of the smile upon his lips, and the faintest flicker of dazzlingly pearly-whites; were they a bit pointy in their position? Even as a human, he still bore a vaguely unnatural persona, the longer she studied him.

“Hm-hm! _Yes_...so, knowing what you do, here and now, what is it that you **all should be doing** , from **here on out?** If you wish _not_ to **live in the past** , if you wish to **forget** , and **move forwards** , just as you were once before? **What should you all _do?_ Where should you all _go?_** ” Those notes of emphasis, on specific lines and words. There was more to it than just a convincing characterization, Charlie was sure of it. That sound she'd unexpectedly grown accustomed to had returned, as well: the static. Buzzing like a hum of bees, waiting for the answer with bated breath. But not from worried apprehension, no – like a studio audience, hanging by a thread in anticipation of the juiciest bombshell about to be dropped. 

Alastor's eyes were aglow with that same evil delight she'd witnessed before, just aimed at a different target. “ _Yes, **yes**_ – should you **leave this place, never to return?** Should you **live your lives** , as though **complete** and **fulfilled?** **What should you all _do?_ Where should you all _go?_** Should you _**go home?**_ ”

It was all too clear now, based off of everything Charlie had already experienced with this trickster: he was utilizing some other sort of dark magic here, to handle the remaining survivors. Something to possibly adjust and tweak their recollections of this night...or even their lives, in general? As horrible as she felt, allowing someone else to clean up her great mistake and damages...

...there was no other way she could see to resolve things. How could she possibly ease their pain: by simply saying “I'm sorry”? By applying bandages and kisses, to make it all better? Hell, by bribing them with money? She was pretty certain there had been a few instances in history where a nicely sized check had been enough to write off some loss of human life...just not here. Charlie wasn't that sort of person. 

So, instead...she was allowing this madman to permanently warp their mental state, as a spiritually cursed therapy for pain. Well. That didn't really make her any better in the end, did it?

Without missing a beat, the four replied, in unison: “We should _**move on, live our lives**_ and _**forget!**_ We should _**leave this place, never to return!**_ We are _**complete**_ and _**fulfilled!**_ We should _**go home!**_ ” Where once had been expressions wrought with grief unimaginable, there were simply wide-eyed, blank stares and smiles. It was _eerie_ , to see how empty they'd become, their voices parroting the spell – if that's what it was - in hollow enthusiasm. Adding on the bloodstains and tattered clothing, and it was almost something out of a musical...perhaps something you'd see upon a stage in Hell, if Hell had anything close to Broadway. 

Perhaps her Mother could've told her. Either that, or it was akin to a zombie march. Who really knew, at this point? Why she was bothering to inquire, even in her own mind, Charlie had no fathomable clue.

“ _Well_ , then...” Spinning on his heel, voice crackling just so, as he motioned towards the demolished doorway, grin only growing in size as the applause began to filter in. Their bodies were already making their way across the room. “You should **run along now! Run along** , back to your _**complete**_ and _**fulfilled**_ lives! After all, **this** is _**the past!**_ And there's _**nothing**_ waiting for you **there, _yes? There is no past. None whatsoever!_** ” 

They responded once again, in those dull yet cheerful tones. “ _ **Yes, yes, yes!**_ This is **the past!** There is **no** past! **We have _no_ past! We have our lives! _No_ past! _Complete, fulfilled_ lives! _Yes, yes, yes!_** ” As though sleepwalking, they ambled out in single-file. Utterly vacant, erased mentally. As though they'd never come out to celebrate. As if they'd never known of the Magne family. As if...

...as if they'd very well _never had families or loved ones to begin with._ The block of ice that had settled right dead-center in Charlie's stomach only sent another shudder throughout her body, as the footsteps progressively faded, taking the strange energy signature with them. Soon enough, it was just the three of them, surrounded by the numerous lifeless. 

Letting out a sigh of contentment, Alastor whirled around - 

“Aah!” Charlie let out a little shriek; she hadn't been expecting for the man to suddenly revert back into his former attire. That frightfully distinct red character was present before her once more, striding up to her where she still knelt on the floor. As he grew closer however, Charlie felt a shift beneath her hands. Looking down quickly, she saw that Vaggie, barely hanging by a thread just moments ago, was now forcing herself up, into a sitting position, eye blazing with a new fury. She was focused entirely on Alastor, as he stopped directly behind Charlie. 

The blonde didn't get a chance to speak, as a shaky arm attempted to wrap around her, pulling her close. Even as her teeth were grit in abject suffering, Vaggie was determined to protect her. It had been all too obvious from the beginning, that this man was _nowhere_ near a safe figure. And after everything that had just gone down, that weird voodoo-hoodoo, to him returning by her beloved, looking for all the world like a wendigo had fucked a deer... 

“Back off, you – you demonic _**shitlord!**_ ” Coughing fitfully and sending blood splattering about, including on Charlie, Vaggie was now wielding her trusty dagger once more. The heiress was attempting to calm her down, but Vaggie was having none of it. Releasing her grasp on Charlie, she was already making a move to rise back onto her feet. 

“No, please, you – you don't understand! And you're hurt! You need to – ah!” Charlie found herself, astoundingly, pushed aside as, on wobbling gams, Vaggie stood once more. Brandishing her weapon before her, she was ready to battle one last time. About as ready as she could be in this moment, anyway. Nothing could ever be that simple in their lives, could it?? 

She'd been happy, so very happy, that Charlie had been safe. Even when this stranger – Alastor, right? - had shown up, getting into her space, being all touchy and weird – yeah, she knew he was making more of an impact on Charlie than was readily apparent – she'd been willing to accept him as just some random guest who'd found his way to her. He'd obviously kept her steady in her time of need, when Vaggie herself hadn't been able to follow as far as she'd yearned to. 

But then... **oh** , that _little show_ he'd just put on. Vaggie wasn't stupid. She'd heard the stories in her family, growing up. Her Mother and Grandmother had been spiritual in their own regards, and Vaggie herself had been witness to her own strange occurrences. Hell, she'd had her Wiccan phase growing up! She'd tinkered with the odd Tarot deck or Ouija board here and there! That's how she knew, was absolutely _**one-hundred-percent certain...**_

...that this motherfucker was _**not**_ to be trusted. He'd just **mass erased** the memories of the traumatized survivors of this massacre, and changed appearances so fast you'd swear you were in a time warp! And with the way he was eyeing Charlie, of all people, both before and after he'd slipped up and revealed his hand, told Vaggie everything she needed to know. In the midst of this loss and mayhem, a bonafide _**demon**_ had come waltzing right in. And he was after her dearest friend. 

No – the one she loved. The one she'd pledged her heart and soul to, until her dying day. And if it was to come sooner than planned, without her actually getting to tell Charlie how she felt – because like Hell was this the right time?! 

So be it. At least she'd kept her promise. 

Alastor was not perturbed in the slightest, walking right up to the tip of Vaggie's dagger, that great grin in place and threatening to split his face wide open. Those enormous golden fangs left nothing to the imagination, and Vaggie could already begin to imagine a whole load of unfortunate scenarios, involving her and them. But, no matter the screaming agony from her abdomen, the blood dripping onto the floor into a splotchy puddle, the tremors wracking her exhausted body, every last little voice in her head, shrieking in both English and Salvadoran to forget a fight, grab Charlie and _get the fuck outta dodge..._

...she had to take a stand. This guy wasn't just some money-hungry assassin. He was an abomination who could, and would, quite easily, chase them and gain the advantage without much effort. So, Vaggie wasn't going to scurry off like a coward with her tail between her legs. When she died here, at his hands – or _whatever_ he chose to end her with – she'd still be buying Charlie some time. 

Which is exactly what she intended to do. “Charlie, r-run! This guy's a monster!” Fixing Alastor's wide, crimson gaze with what she hoped was as intimidating of a stare as she could manage in her current state, Vaggie lifted her dagger higher. “I-If you want her, you'll – you'll have to – to go through me first!” A series of coughing, and labored, pained breaths. Charlie was already reaching to grab her shoulders. “I d-didn't survive all of this, just – just to, to lose her to some – some despicable soul like you!” 

At long last, Alastor responded. A low, teasing chuckle left him, as with a single finger, he reached out, to push the blade of Vaggie's dagger down in a single press. She attempted to resist, but even through that minor gesture, his power was obvious. “Oh, my dear...I don't think you'll be doing **anything** for much longer, if I may be so bold.” 

Charlie was torn in a heart-wrenching panic, between her best friend, who needed serious medical assistance, and the entity who'd saved her life by bestowing her with a new unholy existence. Looking at Alastor heatedly, fear and anguish reflecting from her eyes to the rest of her features, her words held nothing back. “Wh-Why are you saying that?! Al, _stop it!_ Vaggie needs our help! She - ” 

Her words were halted effectively, when the woman in question suddenly let out a cry. It was the likes of which Charlie would've only imagined concocted from a pure, unadulterated night terror. To hear such a sound leave her friend's mouth was enough to make Charlie switch gears, immediately catching her as she fell back. 

Unsteady legs had given out, dagger already discarded with a ruckus upon the floor from a headstrong grasp. Now she was holding the weakened and trembling, almost seizing figure close, uncaring to the new stains forming upon her clothes. Charlie was desperately trying not to break down, as she pleaded with Vaggie to hold on. 

Alastor hadn't moved one inch, expression the only thing to have changed at all. His eyes had narrowed, grin now a self-assured smirk. 

“ _That's_ why.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh...my...FUCKING... **GOD!! _SO MUCH HTML!!_** I am SO SORRY!! 😭😭😭
> 
> WHEW...now that THAT'S over & done with, onto the A/N! 
> 
> A LOT has certainly happened in this Chapter, huh? The human threats might be gone, but things aren't winding down anytime soon. Here, we see the aftermath of the assault; it seems that Vaggie has paid quite the price for her heroic nature, and is struggling to hold on. Meanwhile, the remaining survivors are lost & confused, Charlie is panicking all over again, & Alastor...
> 
> ...well, like usual, there is MORE to him than meets the eye.
> 
> I thought about it, & there really wasn't any way I could see, to have the lingering guests go on with things after all that had occurred. And bringing in this authorities would've only caused more troubles, ones that I wasn't aiming to explore in this particular story. And, even MORE so...we are still as of yet, in the dark as to the full extent of Alastor's powers. So...this happened.
> 
> There IS a particular system I'm trying to set up here, in regards to demonic abilities, appearances & the like. Parts of it, I'm lifting from whatever canon is available. The rest...well, I'm basically throwing shit at the wall, & seeing what sticks. 😂 
> 
> Alastor, A.K.A the 'Radio Demon'. Also an announcer in his human life, as he hints at here in his 'background' to the guests. Based on those notes, I thought that perhaps...a mind-controlling/altering sort of incantation, triggered by a convincing performance & voice, would be fitting for him here? I do believe that in his human life as well, he dabbled in black magic/voodoo, if I'm not mistaken, so...I thought it could work? 
> 
> In THIS case, I did think about the character in question, & attempted to come up with something befitting of him & his skillset/persona. After all, Alastor is VERY charming to begin with, so if ANYONE could put on a convincing sort of show like this...it would be him? IDK. Yay, or nay? Did I take too much of a risk here? Does it feel like more of a cop-out? All opinions are appreciated; there's a LOT of new territory I'm treading here, so I'm no expert.
> 
> Also, his human form. Basically just went by the most familiar designs I've seen; the themes that seem to repeat the most. Hopefully, it suits him, the way it's described here. Again, this is related to his demonic abilities, the reason he can assume the form of a mortal - & his prior human form - to begin with. But, it's only temporary. And for now, it won't be elaborated upon...
> 
> Finally: Vaggie! The poor soul! Her & Charlie are REALLY having it rough this Chapter. As Charlie stated in her own thoughts, this isn't like the movies where the good guys always win, & the bad guys are the only ones who get hurt. Vaggie's a strong girl, but even she has her limits.
> 
> HOWEVER...even her dire wound isn't enough to pull the wool over her eyes; she's all too aware that something is up with Charlie's new 'friend', even before the disguise falls away. And, no matter how much it hurts, she's determined to protect her beloved until the end. That's right: our dear spitfire is carrying a secret torch for our charming belle, & even if her feelings are never reciprocated, she'll continue to fight, until her last breath, to keep Charlie safe and happy. However...that end scene does NOT seem to bode well for the future...
> 
> As always, feedback is **WELCOMED, ENCOURAGED, & APPRECIATED.** I aim to please, & even if I'm no pro, I always strive to provide the highest quality content I can manage, & improve my craft in any way possible. All of you here in the 'Hazbin' community have been SO kind & welcoming, so even more so, I want my new friends/readers to be entertained & satisfied. 💞💞💞
> 
> Until next time everyone, take care & be safe. As our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	7. Wait - I'm Coming Undone! Too Late - I'm Such A Lousy Tailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Everything is falling apart, and Charlie's at her limit. Too many questions, not enough answers, so much PAIN. And Alastor? Well, he'd be enjoying the show more, if it wasn't so dang hard to keep his Belle's attention...really, grief is SUCH an inconvenience.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/

Just when Charlie didn't think things could get any worse...surprise surprise, **they did!** This night of terror and reckoning was never-ending, as for every hurdle she somehow made it over, another would be immediately dropped in her path. The further along she traveled, the more tangled the road grew, and the darker her options seemed to become. 

With each new stumbling block, Charlie could practically feel herself spinning away from any sort of purity, or even neutrality. It wasn't as though she wanted to make these sorts of decisions; this was where the cards had fallen, and at this point it was all she had left as any sort of 'damage control', let alone progression! 

But now, following this sudden, grim turn of events: cradling a rapidly fading Vaggie in her arms on the floor, as her new supernatural guardian stood above her, watching without any sort of reaction to the fact that she was highly likely to lose her dearest friend here and now? In Charlie's honest opinion, this was scarier than the thought of losing her own life. 

One of the reasons she'd wanted to stay alive, of course, was to reunite with Vaggie, the friend who'd been by her side for how many years. Even before Alastor, she'd been herding her to safety. To think, that she'd made it out, but would be losing the young woman in the process?

How much was her life truly worth, if those she loved the most weren't a part of it?! 

It was already bad enough that her parents were now, not just distant, but outright missing. It sucked that she was the lone captain at the wheel, expected to navigate through the corporate world, when she could barely even manage her own day-to-day routine, boring as it might've been on the surface. It was absolutely heartbreaking that, on her birthday, of all things – a time when folks were meant to gather as one and celebrate joyously, instead people had basically been brought together to die, like sheep at the slaughter. And it was all in her name, the family fortune she so unwittingly and unwillingly sat upon.

On top of that, the only way she'd been able to escape in any sort of stable condition, was by entrusting her safety to the merciless monster who had been hidden away in her parent's bedroom, bound in an otherworldly prison. This had entitled her to being front and center, as he'd gone on his calculated killing escapades. Even if the targets had struck out at them first...lives were lives. And, in Charlie's view, as fucked as it might've been for her to see it as such, every life had some sort of value and worth.

Back when Alastor had been facing off against the captain, he'd expressed at least some sort of momentary remorse towards the felling of his comrades. Those were living, breathing, human beings that the demon had cut down, as though they were made of paper. And he'd continued to do so, even after they'd finished their encounter up above. In just one night, so much blood had been shed...

...and in the second half, part of that blood was being spilled, on her command. Whether or not she'd wanted to give it, Charlie couldn't deny the truth: she had said yes. Even if there hadn't seemed to be any other way out...she'd chosen execution. With someone like Alastor at her side, couldn't she have possibly attempted to afford herself a bit more time, to try and find another solution? Apparently not, because here they were now.

The remaining survivors of the massacre had at least left alive, but at the cost of basically being mind-fucked and losing their memories. Charlie didn't even know how far the erasure extended; whether it was only in regard to the prior events, or if...it reached as far back as the start. The start of, well, whatever! Their lives! What would happen if they came into contact with any other friends or family who hadn't been involved with any of this? Would the lie eventually unravel? Or...well, just how strong was Alastor's magic to begin with?

“Urgh... 'cough' Ch-Charlie...forget – forget...about me! Just...Just run! Run now - !” Vaggie's teeth were grit in a grimace of absolute suffering, as her visible eye was tearing over. She knew it wouldn't be much longer; she was beginning to lose touch with her body, everything was going numb. The pain was rapidly extending, and at the same time, she felt like a solid lump of empty flesh and bone. She could barely register the twitch in her fingers, and it was more than just because of the tears why her sight was fading. 

Oh, but she could certainly see the panicked, frightened, horror-stricken expression to Charlie's features. She was trying so desperately to string her words together – whether it was to reassure her, or silence that damn demon standing above, Vaggie couldn't be sure. That bastard, looking like the ultimate harbinger of doom...

Although Charlie was quite obviously upset with him and his reaction, Alastor couldn't help it: a series of chuckles were flowing freely from his mouth. Really, he couldn't understand the blonde's current demeanor, but humans always had been such silly, trivial little creatures, hadn't they? Even as a human himself, he'd constantly felt like he were on the other side of the glass; a quiet observer from the shadows. He'd traversed among the crowds, interacting so naturally and dropping not a hint as to his true intentions. 

Yet, one by one, they fell about him, like flies. The body count had continued to rise, and he'd been the one to announce it every day, every week, every month...every _**year.**_ And still, **nobody** had been able to connect the dots; that the warm, enthusiastic radio personality had anything at all to do with those grisly murders that had brought the city to a near-standstill of fear. So long...it had taken _so long,_ before his little game had finally been discovered.

Charlie. Charlie Magne. Yes, she was undoubtably human. He could see it, truly; the way she reacted, the way she responded, the way she ached. So sensitive and thoughtful. So kind. What humanity had been originally imagined as: innocent, filled with promise and good intentions. Even when being attacked and roughed up, threatened with all sorts of vile acts, she hadn't once broken down. Neither to wallow in her terror and beg, or stoop to their level and dirty her hands. Her spirit was strong, even for how naive she came across as. 

Yes, her body, too: her blood, in particular, had borne that sweet, succulent flavoring, that one only such as he could properly determine. As a demon, it was far more obvious there was a difference. Demon's blood was nowhere near as delicious as human lifeforce, though it certainly provided one heck of a kick. 

That was another reason why it had stood out to him so...its bizarrely delectable flavor, a mix of humanity and inhuman deities. But, her blood had also been able to do what even Lucifer's own couldn't. She could instantly destroy, and at the same time perfectly restore. Before he'd been able to understand what was happening, Alastor had found himself standing at that lone doorway, staring into the darkened room, once more with free use of his limbs, full experience of his senses...and no further restraint to his fearsome powers.

Charlie was _so unbelievably **human**_ – almost **unbearably** so, in fact. Even when she'd been toeing the beginning of the end, she'd been more worried about him, and his safety. As if such a being as he really required the consideration. It was cute, in a stunted, backwards manner. Like a child. Nothing more, nothing less. 

And yet...she was something _so much_ more than her flesh-bound form. For whatever reason, Lucifer had decided it was in his best interest to bear a child. Wanting one was understandable, considering his position in Hell. Any ruler worth their salt would at least look into the option of setting up an heir for the future. 

However...Lucifer was not like most rulers. The existence of Charlie only served to cement this fact. Why would the first Fallen Angel, the overlord of the obscene, not only bring a future Prince or Princess into the world, but one of human heritage, in the world of humans, no less? It was quite obvious that Mister Second-Best to the meat sacks had been doing more than just dabbling in the mortal realm, tempting wayward souls down his deviant path of debauchery. 

No – setting up an alternate existence on Earth, hidden among the masses, with Hell and all its denizens completely unaware of this double-life? _That_ was a truly vexing mystery, one of which Alastor, now fully unleashed in his former stomping grounds, was determined to solve. He'd do it all with a laugh and a smile. And it would start...with this girl, this strange, entertaining enigma, miss Charlie Magne.

Why should it be any concern of hers what happened to the people here? Certainly, he'd been generous enough to humor her request of no more bodies, when he'd handled her sticky little problem of dealing with those insipid little followers. They'd just happened to get caught in the crossfire of all-consuming human greed. 

What made them any better, though? A good portion of them had most likely been clout-chasers, looking for any opportunity to elevate their status in the world by riding on the coattails of the Magne name. At least some things never changed; even in the mortal realm, Lucifer liked to live large. How he hadn't become any sort of target sooner up here, Alastor had no idea. Speaking of which...

He'd probably realize, sooner or later, that his prized prisoner had been released, by none other than darling Daughter dearest. If Alastor _was_ going to have his fun, it was imperative that the remaining loose ends to this situation were wrapped up as soon as possible. 

The chuckling had already faded into silence, as his mocking crimson gaze was now trained on Charlie beneath him, looking for all the world like a bloodied songbird, trapped in a cage that was continuously closing in around her. His grin stretched just a bit further. Oh, wouldn't this be so _**scrumptious**_ to see? 

“Charlie- _belle_...” The moniker left his lips with a low, rolling hiss, and he was pleased to see her flinch slightly, even as she refused to look away. How much _fun_ it was to corrupt; to take what was harmless and sugary, twisting and perverting it to sting like the most acidic poison upon the ears. “You **did** note, that I **didn't** issue any orders to your dear little gal-pal there, yes?” 

Vaggie was no longer looking at him; her one eye was shut tightly, and she was fighting to hold back the cries of affliction. That was a nasty wound she had there, he didn't blame her. Bullets were a real crock to deal with, weren't they? Even while alive as a regular hunter, he'd known this. 

And in death as well, one of the hunted himself. 

Having managed to both compose herself, and detangle from her place on the floor, Charlie was now facing him head-on, eyes burning with an intensity that made his crimson gaze widen. Oh-ho, now this would be fun. Charlie, as he'd come to see, was one of the most interesting sorts when she got riled up about something – positively or otherwise. 

“You – You _don't talk_ about Vaggie like that! She's my best friend, and if it weren't for her, you – I would've never even wound _up_ in that room to begin with! So d-don't get smart with me, Mister!” She had extended a finger, pointing it straight at him with no fear this time around. Was she possibly, growing more comfortable with him? Or, did she really think she had any sort of ground to stand on here?

Again, that stretch of lips at the corners, over exaggerated fangs. He was going to have quite the time shattering her little delusions. _Go on, dearest **Charlie-belle.** Let me **have** it. Give me **what-for.** You're quite charming like this, so **impassioned** and set in your ways. Even without your smile..._

A deep inhale inward. Charlie was processing her next words carefully. She hadn't seemed to have caught the gist of what he'd said to her in the first place, though. “If you...your – your, whatever it is that you do, your powers! If they - ” She was having such trouble tripping over her words, as though yet unwilling to address him for what he truly was: a demon. It was almost adorable. **Almost.** “If they...can be used, for more than – than just, well – death! Then...then...!” 

That was where his hand lifted, effectively cutting her off. He knew where she was going with this. He'd let her have her fun, but now it was time to wake up. Alastor could practically feel himself salivating at the image of just how hard Charlie's face would fall, once he uttered these next words. 

“You really _weren't_ listening, were you? I _didn't_ use my prior spell on your _Miss Vaggie_ there.” Charlie gulped, but still did her best to appear steady. “Do you know **why**?” 

The blonde may or may not have known what he was getting at, but if she did, she was far too skilled at playing dumb for her own good. “Well, I mean – where on Earth is she gonna go, anyway?? Vaggie can barely move! And if we don't do something now, she'll -”

The icy tone of finality, cutting through her protests and pleas like wind through straw. “ **Die?** Yes, you'd be quite right. And that's why I **didn't**.” Charlie's face was paling rapidly, and Alastor was savoring the fresh torment, etched into her features. “Because your Miss Vaggie, is right at death's doorstep. There's no way to call her back. All you can do...is _watch_.” 

Surrounding them, the static began to fill with murmurs and hushed concerns. As though this were an episode of some drama, and a hard piece of news had just been revealed. Charlie did not need this right now – didn't need to feel like she was being further scrutinized under a microscope for some sicko's amusement! Dark eyes filling with hot tears, she shook her head frantically, looking back and forth between Vaggie's rapidly fading form, blood pooling at her side, and Alastor, still upright and poised as he'd been upon first walking to her after casting his magic. “N-No, that's not true! There's still a chance – even if – if the medics can't do anything, you – you - !”

Bending forwards, until their faces were on the same level, Alastor regarded her with that cooly dour expression. His smile still remained though, as did the light in his eyes. “Charlie. There is _nothing_. You can do. There is _nothing_. That I can – or _will_ , do here.” He swore he could see the violent thud of her heart at hearing this. “Perhaps you think me some sort of entity who can both cure and inflict, and I am sorry to break it to you...but, I am **not**. Not beyond **myself** , anyway. Heh.” 

This was true; although his abilities allowed for regeneration, it was entirely self-employed, hence how he'd been able to survive the various onslaughts of bullets earlier in the night. Of course, the fact that human weaponry was useless against the paranormal also helped. Learning how to heal others, beyond bringing into physical form objects that could potentially assist, was not his expertise. He lived for the thrill of the hunt; to take life, not preserve it. And, even if he could bring forth some sort of medical equipment here...it most likely wouldn't be of any use, considering how severe Vaggie's injury was. As a demon, he could easily see the last remnants of her life slipping away.

Charlie looked like she were ready to collapse. The emotion in her eyes...like she'd simply shut off all the lights inside, and gone to sit facing the corner in a little ball. Oh, dear. Well, it looked as though indulging in her misery had worn out its welcome. Funny, that didn't usually happen, but fine! First time for everything! Time to lighten the mood a little – or at least give the grieving girl a chance to say her goodbyes. 

Gently, almost tenderly, Alastor placed his hands on her shoulders, effectively shocking her back into the moment. Before she could protest, Charlie found herself being turned around, to regard Vaggie's prone body upon the floor. Her breathing was so shallow, nearly invisible. Leaning in close, Alastor allowed his voice and static to soften in their bite, just for a few words. “Go and see her now. Before it's too late. You can at least send her off properly. I'm sure she'd appreciate that.” Yes, that sounded like something one human would say to another, right? 

Charlie could only swallow any sort of retort or question. She simply nodded, carefully stepping closer, to kneel back down beside her dearest, oldest, only friend. Trembling, Charlie reached out, to haltingly take one of her delicate hands in her own. It had gone so white, the nail beds tinted a bruised blue. She almost dropped the appendage – it was so _cold!_ Even under the coloring she'd applied earlier, it was apparent that Vaggie's lips were turning the same shade, too. Her closed eye didn't open, but the lid edge fluttered slightly as her head shifted just so, in Charlie's direction. She knew she was there, even if she really couldn't do much by this point to acknowledge it.

“Vaggie...V-Vaggie, I'm... **I'm so sorry**...” The words felt so heavy on her tongue, bearing a sickly tang of regret and shame. It was all her fault. If she'd just been more prepared, if she'd been stronger, if she had said something else – so many _ifs_ , but no real answers. All she knew was that her life was effectively over – because if Vaggie wasn't in it, could she really still consider herself still alive? No – would she still _want_ to stay alive, as merely an anomaly of the Devil and a failure to the rest of the world?

Leaning forwards, as softly as she could, Charlie placed her cheek against Vaggie's chest. The motions of consciousness were almost nonexistent, and the beat beneath was just about gone. The chill was still present, through the fabric of her soaked dress. She felt the sobs begin to well up in her throat, as the droplets trickled down her face. Forcing herself to hold back the sounds, if only to avoid any additional movement or pressure, Charlie allowed the tears to fall. 

This was it. This was what everything had led up to. All of it: her life story, her struggle to survive, her meeting Alastor and making the deal, getting everybody else out of here, to not have to worry about what had happened any longer... 

...it had all culminated, to end up like _this_. The death of her best friend.

Alastor watched in silence now, arms folded behind his back. The static was rising and falling erratically about them, almost like uneven breathing. In response, the faintest sound of a memorial tune began to play. He could see it, clear as day: the last thread tethering Vaggie to this world...was about to snap. Once it did so, her soul would have nothing to hold onto, and would be well on its way to...

...huh. Well. Wasn't _that_ interesting. That somebody so close, to someone so unsullied, no matter her bloodline...

“Vaggie... _ **Vaggie - !**_ ” Charlie could feel her will slipping away. Why? Why did things have to turn out this way? On top of everybody else who'd lost their lives...

...she was losing Vaggie, her adorably stubborn, hotheaded Salvadoran friend, who'd been quick on the draw when it came to snark, or to throwing down. She'd been pretty smart in school, managing to help Charlie in English when some of the book reports and analysis papers had gotten overwhelming. Vaggie loved to read, and had a good eye for summation and understanding – though, at that time, she'd still had two. It wasn't until the end of their senior year that she'd...

Vaggie was also good at P.E, or at least was skilled enough to not constantly get hit in the head with the ball. Charlie could play the games, but dang it if her skull didn't have some sort of magnetism for those stupid bouncing projectiles! Even her face wasn't safe – she'd had the unfortunate experience of wanting to dress up one day with bright red lipstick, only to get walloped with a volleyball square to the kisser later on. Before she could return the ball into the game, she'd had to furiously wipe it off on her shirt in embarrassment. She remembered how Vaggie had been giggling, telling her to leave it because it was a perfect impression.

Besides that, Vaggie was bilingual because of her heritage, something that Charlie had admired immensely. Through of all her parents' connections, they'd become quite well-versed in various languages. However, she'd never been able to keep up, only managing the occasional word or short phrase. At the meetings or dinners she'd had to attend when younger, Charlie had found it in her best interest to keep her mouth shut. As much as her Father would've preferred to show her off, she was about as much of a conversationalist, much less in multiple languages, as she was any sort of success as a business woman.

Slowly, lifting her head and adjusting, Charlie was regarding Alastor once more, this time with an utterly defeated, tear-stained expression to her youthful features. So many tears...so many, many, _**many**_ sweet tears. Everybody knew that tears tasted salty, but to Alastor, they were always such a sweet treat, visually at least. Though, in Charlie's case, he might've had to extend his definition. But he hadn't been lying earlier when he'd said that he much preferred Charlie's blood...

...and, now that he thought about it, a smile suited her face far better, too. He'd just have to make sure it returned to its rightful place once all this hullabaloo was over. After all...yes, her little friend might be gone, but she had his company now, and he was worth more than any sad excuse of a human being. At least he wouldn't up and die on her so easily, now would he?

Oh, right – _too soon_. Hee hee.

“There's...There's n-nothing... _nothing_ that can be done?” She'd just had to ask, one more time, even knowing what the answer would be. Not losing his grin, but still attempting to make some sort of an impression, Alastor was at least willing to dim his intensity and charm, if only for a couple of minutes. Offering her a stoic, resolute shake of the head, she replied with a nod, turning her attention back to the decidedly far more corpse-like form beneath her. Alastor could see it: that single little thread, twanging in the balance. Death was right around the corner, jaws wide open and ready to snap.

Charlie didn't care that her pretty clothes were now caked in Vaggie's blood. She didn't care about any of the bruises or injuries she'd suffered over the course of the night. She didn't care about whatever it was she would be waking up to, if she actually managed to fall asleep at some point. She didn't care about what happened to her from here on out. Heck, Alastor could've chosen to kill her then and there, and she most likely wouldn't have reacted. Her life was fair game. At least it meant that she'd get to see Vaggie again. 

Though...if Vaggie was going to Heaven, and she was the daughter of the Devil, then, wouldn't that mean, if she were to die...she'd most likely be going to Hell instead?

“Ah - ” Just as that thought passed through her mind, Charlie felt a deep exhale leave Vaggie's body. It seemed to...just simply be giving way from the inside. Her lips were slightly parted, and her head, which was cocked slightly from when Charlie had taken her hand...was now drooping further. Her form was still and chilled to the touch. 

Charlie could feel it; that overwhelming, all-consuming nausea, brought on by panic. Her motions were stilted, hesitant, unsure, as once more, she carefully leaned down, to place her ear against Vaggie's chest. This time...she took note of just how solid and stiff her figure was, and as her own heart felt like it were sinking into her stomach, Charlie realized, no matter how she strained to hear...

...the beating had silenced. Vaggie was gone.

Too much. It was all too much. Without warning, Charlie had jolted up, jerking away violently as she leaned forwards, palms pressed into the bloody floor. She couldn't hold back any longer; for whatever reason, this was the moment where her body decided to revolt. She could taste the sour acridness, and everything else, mixed together as it spilled forth from her insides. Like a repugnant witch's concoction, summoned by anxiety, vitriol, and grief. 

Alastor still said nothing, though his eyes had narrowed just so. The last line had been severed; the young woman, this 'Vaggie' whom his Master was **so** enamored over, had finally passed on. He supposed, watching Charlie cry and wail while puking up her figurative guts, he could step in to play the now vacant role of the 'good friend', comforting her with the basic lie that, at least she was at peace now. Wasn't that what most people would say at a time like this? Surely, it wouldn't strain him too severely to repeat these words? 

Perhaps, but...that wasn't taking into account that Alastor had no desire to be anybody's friend. It was not the sort of part he would degrade himself with. A man of his status and skill, no; he had standards. And, more than that...

...he was _beyond_ just a twittering sycophant to Charlie. He had _**far**_ grander plans than that. 

As he watched her continue to heave and retch however, hearing her incoherent babbling and sniveling, Alastor supposed that it wasn't very befitting of an heiress, let alone the Devil's daughter, to be in such a...compromised position. He could at least move her to the couch, and figure out what to do from there. They still had quite a bit of clean-up to deal with, and even with his appetite being what it was – he'd been absolutely _**destitute**_ of flesh for far too long! - it would be impossible to dispose of every body in that manner. 

Plus, knowing Charlie, she'd most likely have words for him if she were to see him having a nibble on anyone she deemed unsuitable for such methods. Like her dear Vaggie. 

Oh, well. He'd take care of it later. For now...get Charlie back to her senses, and then the real fun could begin. Clearing his throat, Alastor drew closer, bending down to gingerly place his arms around her, and help her to her feet. Unexpectedly, she slapped his hands away. 

“No, Al – don't touch me! 'hic' I-I don't – _I don't care!_ Just – Just leave me alone! 'urp' Just l-let me die here – I can die, too! I c-can find a way!” Oh good grief, she was completely incoherent with heartache. Really, humans were far too sensitive for their own good, and he'd originally been one. Like dying was **really** an option for her anyway. Again, he tried to pull her close, and bring her to her feet. “Miss Magne, I understand you're... _hurting_ , right now, but please - ”

Once more, she pushed him aside. Now she was leaning over Vaggie's body, no longer gagging but still crying profusely. “It – It doesn't matter! If she's g-gone, then why – why am I still here?! It's m-my fault that this – all of this, happened! It d-didn't have to, but it did! It did, anyway!” She was quite hard on herself, wasn't she? If Alastor really wanted to nitpick, he could shift the blame to her overzealous Father instead, seeing as it was he who had apparently set this situation in motion, causing his home and daughter to become a target in the first place. 

But, no matter what he might've thought personally of Lucifer...Alastor wasn't trying to shove his own opinion upon anybody. Nor was he wanting to make things worse here. For once, it didn't benefit him in any way, so it wasn't an option worth pursuing. His focus was entirely on Charlie and her currently shattered mental state. 

She had a balled up fist upon Vaggie's unmoving chest, and her voice was rising in pitch. “It's my – it's all my fault! She should – she should still b-be here right now! I should've – I should've made her come with me! I s-should've forced her! I shouldn't have let her – left her to sacrifice herself! What – What kind of friend am I?? A shit one, that's – that's what kind!” Alastor was about ready to silence her himself; just a little spell, a whisper, and she'd pass right out. 

But, just as he was preparing to strike -

 _What...?_ He could see it, plain as day: that untethered end of the young woman's soul, which had vanished from the mortal plane not too long ago...was returning to focus. That **wasn't** normal, not for a human, and certainly not for any demon who'd been properly extinguished. However, it wasn't reattaching either. But still...why was it visible to begin with?

Charlie's frantic muddle of begging and self-hatred was starting to reach its peak, as she started hitting the side of her own head. Alastor was taken aback, if only for a second. Her cries were piercing, not in tone, but in impact, just like every wallop she lodged against her temple. “ _It's – my – fault!_ This – s-shouldn't have h-happened! It's my fault, and I-I can't! I **won't!** _I won't lose her! I **can't** lose her!_ I'm not letting go! I-If I'm – I'm - ”

Alastor was only vaguely registering Charlie's words; he was far more fascinated by the current of energy that was building up in the center of Vaggie's chest. A small, pale pink orb of... _something_ , that had started forming from the two ends of the detached thread. It still wasn't repairing. But instead, it was adding onto...whatever this was. And, the more Charlie lashed out...the stronger its form became. His eyes widened; what was he seeing here? 

“Charlie - ” He attempted to address her. But she wasn't having any of it. She shook her head fervently, refusing to allow a word in edgewise. For goodness sake, she was being so unreasonable! “ **N-No** , Al, you're gonna _listen_ to me! If I say I-I wanna die, then I'll – that's what I want! And if I – if I s-say, that I want Vaggie back, then I – then I do! **I do!** And – _And_ \- ”

At long last, her eyes flew open. _**“I'll find a way!”**_ Alastor was struck with stupefaction: the sclera had gone bright red, while the irises were a vivid gold, pupils narrowed like a cat's. Her stare was waterlogged, but full of a fury and influence the likes of which he'd never seen before, even in a demon. It very well took his breath away.

So frightful, so vehement, so commanding, and yet...so _trusting?_ So _steadfast?_ So _**compassionate?**_

Then, a flash akin to a supernova. That little energy orb seemed to have finally woken up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AAAAAANNNNNND...thus ends Chapter Seven! 
> 
> I know, I know, it's one cliffhanger after another! I REALLY didn't set out to write things this way intentionally, it's just where the muse took me... 😅 Hopefully, at least the content of each post, & the follow-up after the initial suspense, makes it all worth it...? Maybe? 
> 
> Yes, to those of you who are already coming for me with pitchforks & other pointy things, & possibly some fire too, for good measure: Vaggie died. BUT, there's a good reason why I didn't tag for it! As you can see, from the tail end of this Chapter...things are heating up in Charlie's neck of the woods.
> 
> Obviously, she's HELLA hurt & grieving right now. Here's hoping I didn't go too overboard with the description; I feel like, it would take something truly monumental to break Charlie's spirits for such a reaction to be possible. I imagine the death of your one & only best friend, who also helped in saving your life, would qualify as such. But maybe I'm wrong? I tried to make it believable, but I am merely human, & MORE than capable of error.
> 
> Also, Alastor. He is being QUITE the asshole here, of this, I am aware. Based off of what we've seen of him so far though, & the fact that Vaggie was presenting herself as a hinderance to his presence before she passed on, I can't see him showing any sort of grief, or even compassion, really. I mean, he was a killer when he was alive, & still is as a demon. The loss of life isn't something that I feel would bother him too much. 
> 
> However, considering he is supposed to have, or is in the process of developing some sort of attachment to Charlie, I could imagine that, if nothing else, he'd want to influence her into a stage that's more pleasant/agreeable to his tastes. After all, "You're never fully dressed without a smile". Though obviously, Charlie is already having FAR more of an effect on him than meets the eye...it's just gonna take a WHILE before anything will be acknowledged properly. 😆
> 
> And lastly: classic canon Demon!Charlie finally makes an appearance here, at the very end! It seems like Vaggie's departure is not quite the last entry in her book - but if so, what lies in store for her soul? And, what does Charlie showing signs of her supposed heritage have to do with it?
> 
> All good questions, but unfortunately...you'll have to wait until the next Chapter to find out. 'ducks from the flying chicken bone projectiles' Don't worry though - that update WILL arrive as planned! I'm building up a nice stack of future Chapters, so posting continues as smoothly as possible. ❤️ It's just a matter of patience, on ALL of our ends. Trust me - I'm just as anxious as all of you to share more of what's in store. 😁💞
> 
> As always, feedback is **WELCOMED, ENCOURAGED, & APPRECIATED.** Don't be afraid to drop me a line, whether you're having a blast, or feel like there's some rough edges that need to be smoothed out. Short or long, signed in or not, any language - I'm all eyes. [Since I can't actually hear anything here... 😅] I'm just so glad to be able to tell this story to the world, weird as it may be. I look forward to the final destination, but first, I will treasure our journey together. 💗💗💗
> 
> Until next time, take care & be safe. As our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	8. You Only Live Twice...And Bitch, I'm DEAD Fabulous!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A rousing revival, minus the redemption. Charlie's awestruck, but not for long. Thoroughly enthralled with this turn of events, a certain crimson troublemaker is all too keen to remind them of his presence - and a new clash is brewing on the horizon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/

The beams of pale gold and pink light had seemed to practically explode between them from nowhere and everywhere, all at once. Charlie let out a cry of surprise, not just from being nearly blinded, but from the push of **warmth** , rolling over her body like a fluid blanket. It was so... _soft_ , and enveloping; as if she were being wrapped in a hug from head to toe. Even with her arm raised, she managed to crack one eye open. The sight that greeted her...

Above Vaggie's empty form, was a tiny little sphere of _**something.**_ The glare was coming entirely from its presence, as trails of... _sparkle_ , and smoke wisps swirled about its shape. It hovered in the air, slowly rising further and further. With the currents surrounding it, gradually the force grew stronger, along with the glow and sensation it radiated. In a panic, Charlie's gaze darted over towards Alastor, to see if the demon was as phased over this as she. 

Granted, he was a supernatural being, so possibly, things like this were just...par for the course, in his view?

However, what greeted her in response, was not what she'd been expecting. At all. Instead of his bemused stare focused entirely on the scene unfolding before them...his gaze was locked directly, intently upon her own. His eyes were wide, though slightly lidded, and although still bearing his usual smile, his mouth was parted, as if caught in a pause, the words right at the tip of his tongue. The emotion across his features – if he were truly capable of such a thing...she really could not place. Perhaps it was because nobody in her life had ever looked at her in such a way.

As though she were some sort of fascinating abnormality, something to be both studied and coveted. Though, whether or not she'd **appreciate** the interest of somebody like him, Charlie really couldn't be sure. All signs so far, though, were pointing towards _**"Hell no!"**_. Why was he watching her, when this display was happening before them??

 _Wait...don't tell me - !_ Charlie came to a sudden abrupt realization then. Was he so focused on her...because he thought **she** was the cause of this phenomenon?! If that was the case, then whatever this was couldn't be considered anything 'common', in his book. On the other hand...

“H-Hey, you've got it all wrong!” Her throat felt tight, and her voice made an audible croak upon speaking. It was as though her lips had been welded shut! Still, she managed to get the words out. She was just as lost as him here! “I-I don't know what's going through your head right now, but **this?** All of **this?** It _isn't_ me! I can't even - ”

Charlie was cut off without warning; the little ball, which had drifted above, nearly to the ceiling, had suddenly let out a shrill crackle, like high-pitched lightning. It was almost as though a bolt had gone off in her living parlor, and Charlie nearly fell over in shock. Carefully, almost hesitantly, the small orb began to flutter back down, until it was directly in front of her. 

Heart pounding, completely unsure of what to do, or what could possibly be waiting in store for her here, the blonde didn't dare to blink, no matter how strained her eyes. She barely felt the breaths leaving her body, as the tiny sphere hovered before her...

...almost reminiscent of something, that she couldn't quite put her finger on. But its movements were triggering an image in her mind; possibly even a memory, from a time long past. Just as this thought registered, the energy ball spun in a perfect circle on its center, before two wider streams split from it, deliberately cocooning around the orb, forming a very distinct shape as they finally extended a few seconds later. 

She felt her heart jolt, almost in remorse. As if on instinct, Charlie held out her hands, shaky as they were, to cup below the now transformed drop. There, flapping languidly at its sides... were a pair of _wings_. 

But not just any sort of wings, oh no. Charlie immediately recognized the shape and proportions; the pale pattern speckled about their surface. She didn't dare try to touch them, although the question lingered at the back of her mind, whether or not the consistency was the same.

Moth wings. They were _moth wings_. A very distinct image, specifically connected to a certain face...

When they'd been fresh right out of high school, Charlie had been spending a night over at Vaggie's house. It had been humid, and the crickets had been chirping incessantly outside the kitchen window. As the girls had been talking and giggling, over future possibilities as they enjoyed a couple of popsicles, her Grandmother had walked in. 

Instantly, her eyes had zeroed in over the entryway to the back door, and a series of foreign curses had left her mouth. Before the girls could respond, she'd been charging towards it with a broom.

As their attention had turned, wondering what on Earth could've set her off so, Charlie had taken note, of a large, dark moth. Its wings were spread wide as it rested over the frame. Vaggie had already been leaping out of her seat, desperate to stop her Grandma from striking the creature.

“Grandma! Grandma, don't worry! I'll take care of it! It's okay, you don't need to worry! I'll get rid of it!” It took a few minutes to get her to fully calm down, but eventually, the elderly woman had trooped back to her room. Vaggie had let out a sigh, as she'd proceeded to open the door, before this time gently nudging at the edge of the creature's body, to make it move. Flicking on the outdoor light, she'd motioned for Charlie to shut off the overhead. Upon doing so, the moth had fluttered out harmlessly, taking new refuge against the externally-located bulb. 

They'd stood outside for a little while after that, simply enjoying the sounds of the nightlife, and occasionally checking back on the moth. Vaggie, in particular, had seemed quite focused on its form. If she were allowed to be honest, Charlie had been curious about what exactly had set her Grandmother off so fiercely, seeing the creature inside. So, tentatively, she'd asked. 

Vaggie had looked at her, eyebrows raised just so, before she'd let out a soft chuckle. “Ah, don't worry about it...just an old world superstition. Back in the past, they used to believe that having one of these guys - ” and at this, she'd pointed towards the moth, “ - in particular, these dark ones, perched like that over a door...well, it was a bad omen.”

She'd lifted up a hand, scratching at the back of her neck, and brushing away a clump of dark locks. “They said it meant that someone was going to die soon.” Charlie had gulped upon hearing that; her eyes had been darting quickly between Vaggie and the creature, though it wasn't doing much else other than romancing the light. Every so often, she'd hear a soft flap, as it would adjust its position. 

“Personally, I don't believe in that one.” Charlie's gaze had returned to Vaggie then. “I mean, sure – I'm not gonna lie and say that I'm not superstitious. But I...well, I like moths. So, I can't really get behind this one. Aside from potentially eating holes in your clothes, they really don't cause much trouble.” 

Her soft yellow eye had seemed almost wistful then, as she'd looked towards the sky. This was shortly after her Father had been booted out, after their final brawl right before their graduation. Only the prior week had the bandages been removed, replaced instead with a grey patch. A quiet sigh, exhaled under her breath. “I actually like moths. I think they get a bad rap. I mean, they grow up the same way that butterflies do, but people only care for the latter, not the former. Moths are just as pretty. Plus...even if the world doesn't appreciate them, they don't really care. They just do what they do. Plus, they're most active at night. Kinda like me, 'cept I can't say I really look good doing it, heh.” 

Vaggie had seemed so awkward and vulnerable then, and Charlie hadn't been entirely sure how to respond. What could she have possibly said here? Sure, she could've just said that she was pretty, but in her opinion, Charlie had felt like that wasn't enough. Vaggie was one of the sweetest, smartest, most unique and resilient individuals she'd ever known. She'd never regret being her friend. 

No – it was an _**honor**_ to be so. She wanted to show her, more than just tell her, in that moment, how important she was.

So, as tenderly as she could, Charlie had wrapped up the smaller girl in a close embrace. Vaggie had stiffened for but a moment, before relaxing and returning the gesture. As they'd stood there, under the light with the dark moth fluttering about overhead, Charlie had been so content and at peace. They'd weathered so much together over the last year – Vaggie, especially – but now, it was over. They were free. Vaggie was free, to grow and fly forth, as the beautiful moth she was meant to be. Always drawn to the light, the positive, no matter how dire or dark things got. 

Just...what represented the greatest positive in Vaggie's life, though? What represented her main source of a glow?

By now, the tears had been tricking once more down Charlie's face, most likely leaving further watery black trails in their wake. The tiny orb was still hovering above her hands, wings flapping as if in a dream. With a sudden gust of wind, it strayed past her shoulder, around her form crumpled on the floor, to instead place itself behind her. 

Alastor's attention hadn't wavered from Charlie this whole time, though now that he was in a better position to see the strange anomaly, his eyes did flicker somewhat in mild interest. He took note of how it had transformed. But still, his thoughts were trained on Charlie and Charlie alone.

This little puppet-creation of Lucifer's, this mismatched heir-but-actually-not, was proving to be **quite** the spectacle. Just when it had seemed like things were settling down somewhat, she'd gone and pulled this stunt. Whether she understood it or not, this event currently transpiring was _entirely_ of her doing. Her and whatever these confounding...'abilities' were, that she so apparently possessed. Oh, what a _treat_ , what a _thrill_ this would be!

As a dealmaker with a penchant for bloodshed, she'd already managed to gain his notice – and potential favor – by releasing and then allowing him his beloved massacres on a plane of existence he'd been divorced from for so long. It was like rediscovering the love of the hunt all over again. On top of that, she'd turned the tables on him, by getting him to agree to her terms, avoiding a deal altogether. They were his specialty, and he wouldn't have automatically guessed her as keen enough to avoid the catch. Still, she'd made it seem so _appealing_ , so _deliciously **tantalizing**_ , that it had only taken a few moments of contemplation, before he'd made his decision.

Truly, Alastor didn't mind being on Earth again. It was as though he were returning to a game he'd stopped playing how long ago. Only this time, he'd come equipped with all the winning hands and strategies, bathed in good luck from head to toe. It wasn't like he hadn't won before, multiple times; it was simply that, this time around, defeat was going to be all the more sweeter to witness in his opponents. 

This world of mere mortals didn't realize how _good_ they'd had it after he'd left, if only for the fact that they'd no longer had to worry about his predatory presence. They were, at most, deprived of his star power, and homegrown talent. But in exchange, they were all still **alive...**

As he'd quoted, to himself and others, many times over his life – both above and below – the world was a **stage** , and the **stage** was a **world** of _entertainment_. Alastor couldn't live with boredom; nay, he'd rather die again than have to spend a single moment with naught a single memorable thing to do! Being isolated in that little pit that Lucifer had confined him to, for how many years... _oh_ , just the mere _recollection_ made his blood start to boil. Surely, there would be a way to remedy that in the future. But for now...

Charlie Magne. A human with demonic ability in her bloodline. Daughter of Lucifer and Lilith themselves, yet completely unaware and unwitting as to what exactly she stood at the precipice of. So much power, so much devastation, so much suffering...and so. Much. _**Entertainment!**_ Yes, he most certainly wouldn't be bored, not ever, if he were to stick by her side! 

It was obvious that she wasn't the most guided or informed person in her general life; he could look at it as sort of...being a mentor, or taking a little bird under his wing. Yes, that suited him just fine. Because, by offering her that security, and allowing her to put whatever sort of foolish 'trust' she might've had, in him and his abilities...

...he could get something _insanely_ useful, if not outright _necessary_ , from her as well. Her naivete, mixed with her unrivaled status, plus her untapped potential? Yes, this had all the makings of one helluva stage show! A performance the likes of which the world, living or dead, demon or human, had never seen before, and probably never would again, once it was all over. Whenever that would be, Alastor couldn't be sure. 

But, what he **did** know...was that he'd be savoring every last second of it, until there was absolutely nothing left to gain or glean. Until he'd gotten everything his twisted little heart desired. And, it all started...with this young maiden, kneeling before him, seemingly transfixed in some sort of...joyous grief, regarding that mystical little spheroid she'd created from the remaining threads of her friend's lifeline.

Speaking of which...

Charlie was certain, absolutely _certain_ , one-hundred-percent, _dead_ certain, that this presence lingering in her sights...was Vaggie. For whatever reason, she was sticking behind, or had been able to do so, albeit in an unconventional form. 

Had she sensed Charlie's anguish, or had her life simply been ripped away in such a violent manner that she couldn't leave? The blonde wasn't good at all with anything relating to the afterlife; until Alastor had shown up tonight, she hadn't known a damn thing about Heaven or Hell, much less that they actually existed! All she **did** know, was that there was something of her friend, tethered to this vision before her.

She wasn't sure what would happen if she did so, but at this point, her curiosity was nearly killing her, as was the pain in her heart. If she didn't know then, she'd find out now. With a hesitant, shivering hand, she reached for the ball, fingertips extended, to gently graze the edge of the wispy wings. As she did so, a soft call left her lips. “Vaggie...?”

By this point, Charlie wouldn't have been surprised if she developed epilepsy, considering how many unexpected flashes of unnatural light she'd been exposed to this night. She had to scramble aside – not back, seeing as Vaggie's body was still behind her. Looking over her shoulder, she could feel the charge in the air; that warmth from earlier was rushing about them, stemming entirely from that single point. That mysterious winged globule. It seemed as though the wings had wrapped about it once more...

...and, it was **growing**. The whole thing was **growing**. Growing into a form and size that was...so distinctly human-shaped, and not just that, but...strangely _familiar_.

Carefully, the gleaming, shining figure touched down upon the ground, glowing wings now life-sized, and spreading out in a dramatic flourish with a dinging hiss. Like glass or wind chimes. Slowly, the glare and appendages dissipated, and what stood in its wake, before both a shell-shocked Charlie, and silent Alastor...was quite the sight indeed.

Long, snow-white locks, in a choppy, angled cut, that fell over one eye while the rest stretched down her back, nearly to the floor. A large pink bow rested atop the crown of her head. Ashen grey skin on a petite, wiry figure with small proportions. A deeply hued choker, above a pale, off-the-shoulder minidress. It bore one lone dark strap and a pattern of X's about the chest. 

Mismatched thigh-high socks and fingerless gloves, camouflaged flats, and what appeared to be an eyepatch upon the left eye, complete with its own large pink X, that almost seemed to pop off of her pointed face. A single lowered, shaded lid, with thick, dark lashes. As it fluttered open, Charlie could see that they framed the eye, just like her hair...

...in a manner similar to wings. It was when she caught sight of the powder pink sclera, and soft golden iris, that Charlie felt it: that choke in her chest, rising into her throat. She had no idea whether to cry out in euphoria, or horror. 

There before her, stood none other than Vaggie. No matter the changes and alterations, Charlie had no doubt. It was her best friend, in some sort of flesh. The colors, the clothing, the themes - it was all so very much Vaggie. With halted, trembling motions, the blonde rose to her feet, and took a few steps forwards. 

The silence that extended between all parties gathered was ridiculously palpable. As though you could just take a bite right out of the air itself. 'Vaggie' bore an expression of bewildered, sleepy surprise – as though she hadn't been previously deceased, and had instead merely woken up from a deep sleep. The closer Charlie drew, the more she noticed. How there remained no trace of the scars she'd used to bear upon her figure. How, through slightly parted lips, she could catch the faintest outline of tiny, white fangs. How, even with her skin bearing the same aesthetic as a corpse...her dearest friend's inner beauty was able to shine through. 

By now, she was standing before her, and after taking another heavy breath inwards, Charlie began to reach out, to place her hands timidly upon Vaggie's shoulders. Her skin was icy cold, but she didn't flinch. The young woman was now staring into her eyes, tilting her head slightly, as though a question was starting to form. With her own pale hand, she moved to brush a loose strand of hair from Charlie's face. 

An owlish blink of her lone optic, before she finally spoke. The voice had an ethereal quality to it, but the tone was enough to make her heart sing. “Charlie...? What...?” Just as she'd thought: it was Vaggie. Whatever this form was, whether or not she was even alive – most likely not – this was _**Vaggie**_. Somehow, she'd come back. She was **here** , in Charlie's grasp, after an unfair and agonizing sudden end. For whatever reason, she'd returned, in this guise. 

Charlie could feel her lips beginning to tug upwards, in what she knew to be a genuine smile. The thought of her friend being by her side yet again, no matter how outlandish – it was enough to make her cry out, a little trill of joy, before throwing her arms fully around the strange visage. The chill didn't matter. This was Vaggie. It was **Vaggie**. _**It was Vaggie!**_

The specter let out a yelp, stumbling a bit, but managing to keep her balance. It took a couple of seconds, only a couple, before her arms were wrapped just as tightly around the taller woman's form as well. 

What...what was this? What the fuck was going on here? There was absolutely no mistaking it: she had died. Vaggie was **certain** of this. She'd remembered the gradual fade-out, seeing the tears in Charlie's eyes, hearing her broken sobs and pleas. How **heavy** her body had become, how the pain had dissolved into a general numbness, from top to bottom. How cold she'd felt; so very cold, as though she were lying in snow. Everything had continued to quiet and slow, until...

Well, until _what?_ She supposed that whatever she couldn't recall, must've been right after she'd passed. As she lifted her head from where it was buried in Charlie's hair, Vaggie felt a drop in her seemingly repaired stomach. 

There, a few feet away, lifeless and bloodied...was _**her own body.**_ The body she'd been in just a short while earlier, fighting for not merely Charlie, but herself and the rest of their guests. Not many of them had survived; this much, she could remember, at least. But, she'd been able to save a few. And she'd been _so happy_ to see Charlie when she'd stepped out of that bathroom.

Shutting her single eye, unable to properly process the sight before her, Vaggie felt Charlie's warmth under her cold grasp. Darkness...everything had been _**so dark**_. Just an endless void. Until...

...that reddish glare had begun to permeate her faulty vision. And a heat unlike **any** she had ever experienced in her life before. An image of some sort had begun to filter in, in bits and pieces, like a blurred jigsaw puzzle forming in her view. 

What little she could see, what little she could feel...it had made her _**sick**_. Horror. _**Absolute horror**_. Whatever was happening here, Vaggie hadn't wanted any part of it. She'd tried to fight back, tried to move in even the slightest way, but it was as though she were bound in sticky gelatin. She could barely feel her limbs; it was like she were absolutely nothing, just a little worm, attempting to flail about with no use. The fear and terror was **overwhelming** , the heat was **suffocating** , almost _**blistering**_ against her non-anatomy, and the red lights surrounding her had been **garish** , breaching her fractured gaze like a broken strobe light. 

She could even **hear** , in garbled fragments, the sound of distorted voices; as though guttural vocals from a heavy metal album played backwards, were attempting to talk normally. If she were still alive, Vaggie would much rather be dead. And, if she were already dead...

...then, whatever sort of 'afterlife' this may've been, she'd rather be _**erased.**_

Just as she was at her worst, quickly succumbing to the torment and excruciation... _Ping_. A chime in her hearing. 

It was so faint, she could've easily missed it. But somehow, she picked up on it; it was such a pure, refreshing, cleansing note. In that moment of pained nonexistence, Vaggie had clung to that sound with all she had. She'd been pleading, in whatever thoughts she'd bore, to hear it again. 

And **some** how, as though **some** body had actually been listening this time around...she did. _Once_. She felt her fear twinge, then lessen, if only by a piddling percentage. Then, the sound repeated _again_ , a bit louder. And then _again_ , and _again_. With each note, Vaggie had realized, the horrifying visions and sensations that had been surrounding her not but a few seconds before...were vanishing into the ether. As her sight dimmed, the scarlet glare evaporating like mist, a new image was picked up, off in the expanding distance of the endless shadows. 

A tiny little pinprick of effulgence. Was that where the sound was emanating from? For whatever reason, Vaggie, in her non-state, had felt this was the case. That chime...it was so _soothing_ , so _inviting_. So _pleasing_. It drove away the abhorrence, the ache, the ambiguity. She wanted **more**. She wanted to escape from that nightmare of crimson, and even this inky darkness, _**forever**_. That little globe, no matter how minuscule, was her only means of salvation. 

She couldn't move. She didn't seem to have any sort of corporeal mortal part, even as she felt the faded sensations of limp, weighted limbs. But still, she struggled. Vaggie struggled and endeavored, for all she was worth. She could hear that warm bell, and all she wanted, more than _anything_ , was to reach that aura. That beautiful, tender glow...so dove-like and benign, offering her sanctuary, no matter what lay ahead for her, wherever she was. She just needed, so _**desperately**_ , to get to that light.

And, as though once more hearing her silent spiritual pleas...the small spheroid was getting closer. Or, she was drawing nearer to it. The sound was growing louder. With each ping, it was as though another piece of herself was returning, like she were being rebuilt. Arms, legs, hands, feet, torso. Everything felt so foreign and new, but there was no distress, no injury. The closer that gleam grew, the more Vaggie found herself wanting to be nearer. Near enough to touch. Near enough to hold. Near enough, to...to...

Suddenly, she'd been right in front of it. The new warmth she'd felt was strong enough to drown in. Something so encompassing and heartfelt, filling her with a fresh hope. And even though she couldn't see a damn thing of herself, Vaggie's reformed conscience had acted on instinct. What she'd wanted to do from the beginning, therefore she _would_ do so. Her 'hand' had shot out, to grab onto that heavenly little ball...

...then, she'd **awoken**. And here she was now: _**somehow**_ , among the living once again, hugging her beloved like there was no tomorrow. Sure, they were surrounded by gore and dead bodies. And she still had no idea what the actual fuck was going on, let alone what she even _was_ , exactly. If her body was empty, then there was no way she'd be considered human. But, if so, then...

At long last, Charlie finally pulled back, a bit shakily, to regard her with a teary, bleary smile. Oh God, she was so beautiful. Even after all they'd been through, Charlie's unwavering optimism was a sight for sore eyes. Whatever sort of 'afterlife' or even 'second life' she was now privy to, whatever the cost...Vaggie would take it. She had no regrets. If it meant staying with Charlie again, then she accepted. 

After all, she'd made a promise to herself, how long ago. That, no matter what happened, she'd always be there for her one and only sweetheart. Even if she never returned her feelings, it didn't matter. Vaggie would always support her, fight for her, care for her. No harm would befall the girl, so long as she were at her side. In this turn of events, Vaggie had managed to keep her word.

 _Huh...?_ Charlie felt her smile droop, as Vaggie's brow furrowed before her. “Are you okay?” she asked, hands giving her shoulders a little squeeze. The young woman didn't reply.

Why...Why was the thought of 'harm' flashing in her head like a warning siren? She remembered, that shortly before she'd died, those goons who'd stormed the house, had somehow been dispatched. And Charlie had been safe. Right? So then, why... **why** was there this crushing panic in her chest, as though there was something – or some **one** , that she'd forgotten entirely...and really, really, _really_ shouldn't have? 

Studying Charlie's face intently, she tried to find her words. “I-I'm fine. It's just - ”

Then, _that_ sound. That sudden, crackling, _biting_ sound. That _**voice**_ , that hit her reborn system like ice water through her dead veins. “'Ahem' **Well** , isn't this such a... _touching_ , albeit unexpected reunion.” A sensation akin to all the hairs on her body standing straight on end surged over her; it left no goosebumps in its wake, only a lingering charge. She recognized this voice, whether she wanted to or not. Although she'd only heard it once in her life, Vaggie knew she'd never forget it. And, even reborn, it seemed that they weren't free from its owner just yet.

“Ah - ?!” In a flash, she had broken free from Charlie's grip, pushing her behind her shorter form, as her heated stare zoomed in on none other...than Alastor. A.K.A, that smiling, bloodied bastard. 

Vaggie swallowed hard. This...was **not** going to be pretty. “Charlie...I apologize in advance.” The blonde had no idea what she was talking about, only that it couldn't possibly be any good – not with the way she was sizing up Alastor in her glowering stare. Quickly, she scrambled over her thoughts, trying to find some way to diffuse the current situation.

 _Once_. Vaggie had been weak _once_. She'd been hurt _once_. She'd even _died_ once. But now, she was back, by some unholy miracle. And goddamn it, but...never again. _**Never again.**_

She'd already dove for the discarded dagger upon the ground, before Charlie could form any sort of sentence, let alone physically stop her. Now free of her former wounds, and ready to see what this new vessel of hers could do, Vaggie held her arm before her face, weapon poised in a battle stance. Her eye narrowed, paying no mind to the way Alastor seemed to be mockingly evaluating her. It'd be the last thing he _ever_ did.

“On guard, you phantom fucker! I'm gonna show you one _**hell**_ of a bad time!” With that, she lunged.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'in b4 "But - but - but - LUNA MOTHS!!"'
> 
> So, there you have it. The conclusion to last Chapter - but now, it's a whole new ballgame in action. Seems that Vaggie's death was not quite the end of things. She's come back, though certainly not as human. And, not only that...she's gunning for Alastor! Looks like we've got another fight on our hands, & it's anyone's guess what's going to happen next.
> 
> The whole bit in the flashback, between Charlie & Vaggie - that superstition about the moth, is actually one that I grew up with. Only thing is, I don't share the same heritage as her. 😂 But, considering that Vaggie is supposed to be based somewhat off of a moth, & I had this little piece of personal history myself...I thought it could fit? Let me know what you think. Also, yay for some sweet friendly moments with our two lovely ladies. 
> 
> Going on further, Vaggie's 'resurrection' sequence. Yes, as you can probably guess by now...she was going to Hell. But somehow, she was pulled back to Earth - though NOT as she once was. How was the description, of what she was experiencing during her time in limbo, or possible 'purgatory'? I was trying to keep a sort of balance, with what she felt & how much she could actually do, as well as come up with a believable enough fictional scenario about what might happen when you die, & get sent down below.
> 
> And Charlie! HOW was she able to trigger this sequence of events? Why would a demon have the ability to bring a dispatched soul back to the mortal realm, albeit in a new form? Hm-hm-hm, I wonder indeed! Alastor is certainly curious though, as are the rest of us. Look out, Charlie-belle - the Radio Demon's got his eye on you now! 
> 
> As always, feedback is **WELCOMED, ENCOURAGED, & APPRECIATED.** Whatever's on your mind, in regards to this fic, feel free to drop a line my way! I read everything, & answer everything too, as best I can. Your support means the absolute WORLD to me, & I'm over the moon with how many of you are enjoying yourselves following this weird lil' story of mine. I'll do my very best to keep bringing the entertainment every week! ❤️❤️❤️
> 
> Until next time, take care everyone, & be safe! As our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	9. You'll Never Know What Hit You...HEY! Don't Hit Back!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you can't take the heat, then get out of the kitchen." No matter the difference between them however, Vaggie isn't about to let Alastor have his way, without making her own impression. But perhaps, Charlie herself will leave the greatest one upon the Radio Demon - all by his choosing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/

Charlie felt as if she were a spectator in the wild, camera in hand as she watched two animals go head-to-head for territory. One, who already considered themselves the leader of the land, scarred from prior skirmishes, while the other was a ruthless newcomer who had no problems playing dirty to get what they wanted. Could animals be described as having such mindsets or intentions? Well, humans **were** considered animals, and...both of these figures had been born of flesh at one point in their existence, so...

From her side, Vaggie had already leapt into the fray, slicing at Alastor as though aiming for his head as her own personal trophy. Charlie knew that it was all on her behalf; right before she'd first passed, all she'd wanted was to get the man in red away from her dearest friend. She hadn't gotten the chance to explain that, no matter how intimidating and lethal he may've been, Alastor was, actually, on their side. Or merely hers, for the time being. Because right now, he was just as invested in the current conflict as the fiery moth girl.

“Ha ha ha! Closer, _closer_ – ah, no! Not close enough! But go ahead, keep on trying, _little soul_.” Alastor was having a ball, weaving in and out every which way in avoidance of Vaggie's strikes, as they performed their violent tango across the lower level. Charlie was doing her best to keep up, and find some way in-between them. 

By this point, she had a pretty good grasp on who both were, as far as skills. Vaggie was sturdy and scrappy – a fighter through and through, down to her dying breath. Now that she'd been resurrected, as some sort of...otherworldly creature in her own regard, it seemed as though there may've been at least a slight boost in her prior combat skills. Seeing as, even if she hadn't gotten in a single hit just yet, she was still able to keep up with the crimson deviant. 

On the opposite side, however...there was Alastor. Charlie could understand why Vaggie was so wary and distrustful; his general visage gave off an aura of something truly unsettling that you _**didn't**_ want to mess with. But it was **exactly** that reason why Vaggie pursued him. She didn't want him anywhere near Charlie. In her rebirth, she was gutsy, making full use of her new body. What she _didn't_ seem to grasp...

...was that, whereas she was fighting for peace and to protect, Alastor was merely **humoring** her. He was engaging only for his personal entertainment. Charlie knew, from what she'd seen prior, and even from the look on his face now: he could end it all in a **second** , _if he so chose._ Vaggie was skating on thin ice, and whether or not if she meant something to her, Charlie couldn't guarantee that a simple “Stop” would be enough to rein him in. 

“HAH!” With a forceful downward swing, Vaggie just managed to catch the very tail edge of Alastor's coat. Eyes narrowing slightly, the smile on his face did not waver, as he easily straightened his position, and dodged the next stab like a smoothly cracked whip. Letting out a chuckle, his ruby gaze flashed in the direction of the smaller figure. Vaggie had already caught her breath, and was ready for another go. 

“Oh, my...truly, you **are** a stubborn one. So quick to return from whence you came? After this abnormal, though opportune revival? I would think you'd be more careful, seeing as second chances don't come around often.” A brief nod towards Charlie then, that made her heart jump. “And _grateful_.” 

Materializing his mic-cane once more, he proceeded to point it directly at Vaggie. His expression was still mirthful, but the intent in his stare was clear. “I'll give you one, and **only one** chance of your own, to stand down. Take it or leave it, but I will warn you: even a gentleman has his limits. And...” Another quick glance over at the blonde, who felt both a mixture of fear and embarrassment, until hearing his next words. “...I've shed my share of a fair maiden's blood in my time. **You** will be _no_ exception.” 

Vaggie shook her head vehemently, not even allowing Charlie a second to collect her voice and interject. “Save it, asshole! I'm not interested in your tricks or deals! I don't know why you're here tonight – whether those soldier-halfwits conjured you up, or if you came crawling out on your own!” She had her blade aiming dead-on at him. “I intend to send you _back_ where you came from! I didn't die once just to be a useless **freak!** I have a _reason_ to be here!” 

Charlie was desperate for a say in the current standoff. Flailing her arms, she was rushing up behind the young woman. “Vaggie, no! It's not what - ”

But, she didn't get a chance to finish. In a puff of dark smoke, Alastor had vanished, only his voice lingering upon the air. “ _So be it..._ ” It faded off into a series of chuckles. Instantly, Vaggie was on guard, darting toward the dining area. Could she possibly tell where he was going to show up next? 

“Get back out here, pendejo hellspawn! Come and taste six inches of cold steel right in your face - !” Just as she reached the large table, Alastor had materialized at the far end. Realizing that her blade wouldn't reach him from there, but determined to get a few hits in before cornering her target, Vaggie proceeded to yank up a plate from the table, hurling it perfectly like a frisbee towards the stationary scarlet terror. 

Without any effort though, he was able to simply swat it aside with his mic-cane, though not without a few complaints from the sentient device. “Hey-hey- **hey**! I didn't sign up to be a slugger! If home runs are your thing, invest in a **real** bat and some _lessons!_ ” A few chortles from the invisible peanut gallery, to which Alastor simply chuckled again. 

“Ah, my dear servant, you need to learn to be more – _flexible!_ ” Another swing, as a fresh plate came flying towards his head. More shouting. “There's quite the fun to be had in improv!” Now the laughs were being uttered on his behalf. 

Vaggie was starting to curse, this time forgoing the plates to instead take hold of three steak knives scattered upon the tabletop. Aiming them like darts, she shot them off, rapid-fire, at the vermilion target. “Stop mocking me!”

Although none of them actually hit, the last one...skirted by just near enough to rustle Alastor's hair. His smile seemed a bit strained then; his hand had lifted in a split-second to halt its course. Vaggie stared, in disbelief, as slowly, the male brought the knife down, to examine between his fingertips. Charlie too, was stunned. His reflexes, even for an unnatural being, were truly something else. 

“Hmm...I wonder...” Now, he was fixing Vaggie with a tauntingly cruel glint in his gaze. “Demons _may_ be more resilient, but perhaps...I can take out that **other** eye if I throw hard enough?” 

Charlie's chest tightened, and she'd already been crying out, stumbling forwards in a weak attempt to stop the madness.” _No!_ Alastor, **don't**!” He had already let the blade fly free from his fingers, on a direct course with Vaggie's lone optic. 

But amazingly, the young woman was able to block it, with a sharp spin on her heel, and a swing of her trusty dagger. Somehow, she'd been able to respond in time, though it was apparent that the encounter had shaken her up, if only a hint. Inhaling deeply, she regarded the demon with a new sense of loathing.

“You really think I'll roll over and die that easily for you? Don't get your hopes up.” Brushing her bangs from her vision, Vaggie was ready for another round. Alastor was watching her carefully, though it was obvious he wasn't threatened. He was simply enjoying himself, toying with this hotheaded companion of his new - and _**only**_ \- Master. How long the chase would go on for, he wasn't sure. 

Either until he'd had his fill, or...one of them was dead. Oh, wait – those were the _same thing_. Ha ha ha.

Charlie was just one step behind, as the battle resumed. The pair were making their way through the kitchen, this time with Alastor choosing to pop in and out of existence through his shadows and smoke trails. Vaggie was getting frustrated, constantly slashing at air. In no time at all, they'd made their way past the bathroom, and along the stairs. Now, they were fitfully dancing their way down the side hallway, over a different menagerie of dead bodies. Vaggie's steps were a bit rockier here, considering the narrow space and pitiable clutter.

And poor Charlie, all she could do was scream internally, and attempt not to rip out her own hair, as she scurried off after them. Once she reached said hallway – why did they have to be so long?? - her targets were almost completely out of view. Mentally apologizing to every body she would have to stumble over, the blonde was fighting to keep the duo in her sights. If they disappeared for too long at any point, it was game over. She wasn't worried about Alastor, either. No, she knew he could take care of himself just fine.

It was her dear friend she was scared for. Charlie in no way, fashion, or form, wanted Alastor 'taking care' of her!

 _Damn it...why won't either of them **listen** to me?? Am I **invisible** or something?!_ It was bad enough that Vaggie's full rage had been unleashed, and that she was taking advantage of whatever this new form of hers had to offer. At least Charlie had a shot at calming her down, if she could get her attention long enough to reason with her. In a situation like this, it would probably take a lot longer to get through, but at least it was doable. 

With Alastor, though...the problem there, was that she couldn't really tell _when_ he wasn't calm. He could be just as creepy while happy, as when he was in the heat of the moment – i.e, his bloodlust had been sparked. But Vaggie would most likely only see it as him trying to get under her skin, which was dangerous if she kept coming at him the way she was. Charlie still wasn't sure how much this terrifying specter would actually listen to her, so for all she knew, even if she gave him the order to back off, he might ignore her completely. After all, he'd already stated loud and clear: the time for coddling was **over**. He was out to leave an impression, _whatever_ that entailed.

Charlie was not about to risk losing her friend a second time, at the hands of her unexpected, savage savior. So it was imperative she diffuse this situation as soon as possible!

By this point, Vaggie and Alastor had already reached the end of the hallway. To their right, were the doors to the enormous study belonging to her Father. It was here that Charlie saw Alastor disappear into thin air, but not before yanking on one of the handles. Seeing that the rest of the way had two to three more closed doors, she was certain that Vaggie's first guess would be to duck inside the open entryway. And, she didn't doubt that Alastor would use the room and its furnishings to its complete potential.

 _ **Move** , legs! Get me there before shit **really** hits the fan - !_ At this rate, Charlie was surprised, but not questioning, how she could operate at all. Perhaps after all this, she should take up running. That was, if any of them, mostly just herself and Vaggie, made it out alive tonight. She didn't see any sign of her companion at the double-doors, so she'd already slipped inside. Charlie knew she only had a limited amount of time to get there.

Also, there was still the issue of navigating past all of the corpses, without breaking her ankles...! Had **that** many people _really_ attended her impromptu shindig?? Or had they actually sent in that many soldiers to crash it? Charlie couldn't tell, and right now, that wasn't at the top of her concern list.

All she was focused on, was ending this unnecessary fight, before something happened that couldn't be undone. There had been more than enough grief and loss for one lifetime in this lone night! Even if she were some sort of heir to Hell, Charlie still had her heart. And, as long as she could help it, she'd fight to the very end to make sure that those she cared for stayed safe.

Huh...did that actually apply to Alastor now as well, in a certain manner? Charlie had no answer.

 **…...**

Standing inside the gigantic study, Vaggie took a few wary steps forwards, blade at the ready. She didn't know this place too well; as long as she'd known Charlie, the girl hadn't really ventured here that often, seeing as this was mainly her Father's domain. Which was rather sad, considering that he appeared to have had something of his own personal library. Vaggie had always enjoyed reading, and she could tell, just by a cursory glance, not all of the titles here were work-related.

Suddenly, a crash to her left. Jumping and holding back a swear, Vaggie spun around, dagger drawn and prepared to strike...

...only to see that a couple of hardcovers had fallen off of a corner shelf. Shaking her head, Vaggie resumed her trek into the domed room, keeping an extra eye out for any sort of other unusual movements. Basically, that meant her lone optic and head were darting side to side in a frenzy. She was amazed she wasn't puking, let alone that her head was still attached to her neck. 

She was coming up on what she most likely assumed, used to be Lucifer's old work desk. It seemed to have been cleaned out thoroughly, and with the wine-hued drapes drawn behind it, only served to appear all the more foreboding. When was the last time that anyone had been inside this chamber, anyway? 

As she reached the desktop, Vaggie ran a finger over its surface, wrinkling her nose at what she saw. A fine line was now streaked across the wood, lingering on her digit. “Ugh...” Maybe Charlie **would** be fit to hire at least a couple of hands to help care for the place? Just because she didn't use most of it didn't mean it was okay to let it go to waste, cleaning-wise.

Letting out a soft sigh, Vaggie crept around the table, peeking cautiously underneath just to make sure there weren't any jump scares awaiting her there. Of course, there was nothing. The place was as silent as a tomb, and all the more creepy for it. Figures that a monster would choose such a locale to hole himself up in. Instinctively, Vaggie felt her fingers clench tighter around the hilt of her beloved weapon.

 _Well, if this is where he wants his grave, then so be it. I'll be **more** than happy to oblige._ Stepping out from behind the desk, she now turned her attention towards the short length that ran before her, with three rows of books to either side of her. At the very end was a mini staircase facing sideways, leading to a second level with a lounging couch and a few more shelves. That must've been where Lucifer would take his breaks, if he didn't just up and sleep in his chair. He'd always been a ridiculous workaholic, and for what?

Now he and his wife were missing, and their only child was beside herself with worry. Was it really worth it? Vaggie knew that, in her eyes, the answer was a resounding _**“Hell no!”**_ But, that's why she wasn't swimming in dough or running her own successful business...

Her footsteps barely made a sound upon the wooden floor, as she stealthily made her way to the end of the condensed path. Inwardly, she was cursing the situation now, for not having a damn lamp or light to turn on somewhere in here, thanks to those prior criminals. But then again...although she was looking to catch this inhuman madman, she was also aiming for the element of surprise. So, turning on any sort of illumination would dampen that effect. 

At least in her rebirth, it seemed like her eye was much better in the dark than it used to be. That only helped to cement the acknowledgement that she was also no longer human, as well... 

As she passed the second rows of shelves, Vaggie didn't notice the flicker in the dark to her right, that quickly vanished, only to sweep across and reform at her left. A pair of glowing eyes were watching her, their owner snickering silently to itself. Then, they slid up the farthest wall to the top level. Slipping into the shadows in the corner, there was the faintest hint of a crimson flash, that just as soon faded away into the blackness.

 _Careful, now – the last thing I wanna do is wrench my ankle on these stupid steps. Can the undead do that?_ At this point, Vaggie wasn't really sure **what** she would be classified as. She hadn't returned to her beat-up body, so technically, that didn't make her a zombie. Neither did she possess any sort of craving for brains or flesh, so there was that, too. 

But, her form was solid; Charlie had easily been able to see her, and hold her close. Plus, Vaggie could still breathe, though she wasn't as sure whether or not she still had a heart that worked. So, she wasn't a ghost, either. If that was the case, then...

What _**was**_ she? Was she... _like **him?**_

 _No! **Fuck** that!_ As her feet quietly padded up the narrow side-placed stairway, Vaggie refused to entertain the thought; that she could be anything close to that murderous, manipulative apparition. The one glaring difference between them was that, her purpose here was to defend and protect. If there was one definitive reason she could think of for her return, it was not a reason, but a person. It was Charlie.

In the case of this monster, however, based off of his cursed antics witnessed earlier, Vaggie was certain that his reasons for being here were nowhere near as pure. Even if Charlie hadn't been frightened of him, it was obvious that she had apprehensions. He could've roped her into some sort of agreement not to go against him, if she wanted everyone else to be safe. That was the kind of person Charlie was, always putting others' needs before her own. She had the largest heart of anyone that Vaggie had ever known...

...but that compassion was also her biggest downfall. If that was what had happened here, then there was no way Charlie could get out of this on her own. She needed serious backup. That was where she'd come in.

 _Don't worry, Hon. I'll get us both out of this mess. And then...well, I don't know where we'll go from there, but we'll find a way. To our bright new future together..._ Clutching her dagger ever tighter, Vaggie swallowed the forming lump in her throat, as she finally reached the top landing. This second floor wasn't too wide, but it started from this back-angled staircase, before spanning out and around, to the left a short ways, and then all the way through the right. Why Lucifer had thought to design such a place as this, Vaggie had no idea. He was rich, and obsessive; he could've very well put **toilets** on the walls, and no one would've been able to question him. 

Right now, she wasn't interested in pawing at the inner workings of Charlie's Father's mind or mental state. She had bigger fish to fry.

As she made her first tepid paces to the left, the closer and shorter of the two ends, the boards beneath her feet gave an audible squeak. Grinding her teeth in the still silence, Vaggie could only imagine how this looked from an outside perspective, like a plot to a horror film: a wannabe demon hunter, sneaking around alone in the dark while not being quite human herself, tracking the ultimate prey in order to save her human best friend. Although it sounded pretty interesting when phrased that way, Vaggie could only see herself as the cheerleader babysitter, searching for the source of the noises after the power line was cut. 

_Stay calm. You're **not** defenseless. You **can** do this._ She could feel the shakes starting up, but still, Vaggie pressed on. Upon reaching the farthest corner and finding nothing out of the ordinary there, she proceeded to let out the softest sigh, before turning around to make her sweep of the other side. Maybe...he wasn't even in here? He could've gone to one of the rooms further down, if he were able to appear and vanish at will. 

But...if he didn't know what the inside looked like, maybe he couldn't cross over cleanly? Now Vaggie was contemplating the thought process of an unholy abomination's abilities. If this was her afterlife, then perhaps she _did_ have a few bones to pick, here and there. 

It seemed both like it took an eternity, and yet no time at all, for her to reach the opposite point of the upper floor. Realizing then that the level was completely empty, Vaggie swore under her breath. Maybe she was correct, and that cretin had just led her on a wild goose chase? Maybe...he'd been attempting to distract her, so he could get back to Charlie without any interference - ?!

Instantly, a fresh panic and anger flared up inside her. Whirling around, Vaggie momentarily forgot where she was, and what her intentions were. “You pompous, cheesy, talkshow _**shitlord!**_ ” She hissed under her breath through gritted teeth. “Don't you _**dare**_ \- ”

The chill that fell over her was immediate and near overwhelming. Vaggie almost dropped the weapon she was holding. When did the AC come on? Did this room even have AC? Did anywhere in this house have it? No way – there was no noise, and this cold was nigh unbearable! There was _no way_ this was normal!

Just as the thought crossed her mind, Vaggie felt a presence behind her. Spinning around, ready to strike - 

“YAAH!” Something like an iron vice had caught her free wrist, and even in the dark, Vaggie could tell: it _wasn't_ Alastor. He _was_ standing there however, smirking with that golden Cheshire grin, red eyes gleaming and...spinning? Before she could properly process what was happening, Vaggie found herself being lifted up into the air, as if she were but a doll...and then slowly, extended over the edge of the railing, directly above the tabletop. Her eye widened.

Now Alastor was laughing from a distance, voice low and ominous. “My dear, you **do** leave yourself so open. Though it was fun to watch you dart about like a little mouse.” Vaggie still managed to catch his stare, as his fearsome eyes narrowed slightly. “But you _will_ learn...why it is **not** a good idea to challenge me. For, while a gentleman I may be...” and at this, Vaggie felt herself being drawn back in the air, as though in preparation. She had a pretty good idea of what was coming next. 

“...I _don't_ play nice with my toys. _I **break** them._” 

The rush of air from the speed at which she was being flung downwards was almost enough to knock the wind out of her, if the impact didn't do that already. With a mighty crash, the table splintered inward, and Vaggie let out a gasp of shock and pain. Well...she wasn't expecting _**that.**_ Not that it wouldn't hurt; she knew it would. Just, with this new form and its perks, Vaggie hadn't been expecting to experience such smarting so _soon_. 

As the shadow slowly drew back, dragging her body across the broken surface, Vaggie winced, but held in any sort of truly audible agony. Somehow, she still had something of a grip of her faithful weapon, and as she gradually came to...although she was in obvious physical distress, she didn't seem to have broken anything too serious. She could register her fingers and toes twitching, so that was as good a sign as any. By now, Alastor had reformed down behind the destroyed table, and was tilting his head as his shadow-tendrils drew her in a bit closer.

“Resilient, aren't we? Though I suppose...it'll take more than one move to fell a demon, small fry though you may be.” Vaggie couldn't stand his smarmy attitude! It was a long shot, but she had to try something! Biting back the cry of anguish, she forced her body to swing upwards and inwards, slicing at her restraint with her dagger. 

Only...

Again, that infernal chuckling. “Oh, no no no. You see...normal, _human_ weapons don't have any sort of effect on us Hell-dwellers. Be thankful for that little tidbit of knowledge I just granted you – it's the **only** hint you'll get from me.” Vaggie could feel her face paling. So...he _had_ just been stringing her along this whole time - ! He knew, from the get-go, that she wouldn't be able to do a damn thing against him! Not only that...

...but, if his words were accurate, he was telling her, in no uncertain terms...that she was _just like him._ She...had become a _demon._

_**Just like him.** _

_No! Don't give up!_ Making a rash decision, Vaggie did something she'd never have thought of: she threw her precious dagger aside. As it clattered away in the darkness, she pulled together all her strength, to swing upwards one more time. As she was doing so, Alastor continued to leer at her smugly. “And just what do you think to accomplish here, little moth?”

It was a long shot, but right now, it was all Vaggie had. _**“This!”**_ Flexing and stiffening her fingers in a clawing pose, she focused her concentration on the tips, before forcing them into the tendrils. She didn't know what she was expecting to happen, but as long as anything happened, it was better than nothing!

“Oh...? Clever, aren't we?” Amazingly, Vaggie's nails had seemed to instinctively transform into points, and had been able to pierce into the oppressive restraint. It loosened just enough for her to pull free, and land on the shattered desktop, before rolling off to the floor with a cough. Carefully regaining her bearings, Vaggie crawled forwards, towards the door. She didn't **dare** turn around – right now, she needed to regroup, and figure out another way to kill this pest. Knowing what she did now, it was beyond apparent that this guy wasn't going to fight fair. 

With a shaky but solid push off against the ground, Vaggie was back on her feet. Coughing a few more times and dusting herself off, she began limping – yes, _limping_ – towards the exit. Looks like she hadn't quite escaped as scot-free as she'd thought. She didn't hear anything from behind her, but it didn't matter. He'd been mocking her before, so perhaps now he was having some fleeting change of heart, allowing her to escape with what was left of her un-life.

 _Click._ Or...maybe not. Vaggie knew that sound anywhere. After all, she'd been listening to it all throughout the night. Slowly, both as to not lose her balance and set him off too quickly, Vaggie turned around.

Alastor was standing atop the demolished desktop, grinning down at her like a wild animal. The curtains behind had parted just so, allowing a hint of moonlight to filter through. That wasn't what had Vaggie's spine wracked with aching shivers. No, it was the large, intricately designed pistol he held in his grasp, aimed square at her.

In an alternate universe, where her non-existence hadn't been on the line, Vaggie might've actually thought the weapon's design was pretty cool. It appeared to be a cross between the guns that the mercenaries had been carrying, and a classic hunting rifle. How he could wield it so easily one-handed, she'd never know. Demonic skill? She could only speculate. 

The handle was wide, perfect for his spindly fingers. It was colored black and silver, with faint engravings – like flames, or jagged vines, that wound up along the sides to the barrel. The hues to the metal were a mix of deep wine red, with more silver overlaid. There were further etchings, leading up to the front tip – probably some sort of Satanic nonsense, Vaggie wasn't in the mood to guess. At the very end of the muzzle, the tip was slightly widened; like the speaker of an old-fashioned record player, she realized, with a golden coloration that tastefully faded into the rest behind it. 

All she knew, was at that moment...she was utterly defenseless. And it seemed as though, not only did Alastor know this...but he was done giving her a free show.

If she hadn't caught the slightest motion from his hand at the last second and moved, that first bullet would've gone right through her head. It did manage to take a few strands of her hair, and Vaggie almost fell flat on her face, with the full weight of her stumble landing on her injured leg. That _sound_ , that _reverb_ \- ! What kind of bullet **was** that?? Even if it was a rifle, the kickback was _**insane!**_

Looking behind her with a trembling jerk, Vaggie saw her worst fears confirmed: the round had blown out a fucking **crater** in the wall, nearly tearing into the door frame itself and causing it to crack. Thank God – if there was one – that the upper level was nowhere near the exit. Otherwise, there most certainly would've been a cave-in. 

“Oh, my...still rusty, I see. Tsk-tsk-tsk.” Alastor was surveying her with a careful shake of his head, stepping down from the table and making his way forward. Vaggie could only scramble, awkward and stilted, away from him towards the exit. If he caught her with a second round, it was over. That gun...was _not_ any sort of normal human weapon. This entity had the ability to create various matter for his own uses and purposes. So, this one...could most _definitely_ pack a punch against someone like her. And she was in no condition to wrestle it away from him.

By now, the laughter had returned, full-blown and rambunctious. Alastor was taking in her fleeing form with a derisive glee. “What's **wrong** , _Miss Vaggie?_ I thought you _wished_ to do battle? Such bold words you uttered not too long ago – have you perhaps **lost your nerve?** ” More unkind cackling, gradually distorting to an uncanny degree with static. She could see now, for every step he took closer to her, the air was shifting around him, with what could only be described as the warping of reality's fabric itself. She'd read enough H.P Lovecraft to know that shit was about to go down.

Of course, in a classic horror movie, things can _never_ be easy for the main leads. At that moment, Vaggie's sore leg gave way, and she tumbled forwards. Now letting out a noticeable cry, she struggled to pull herself back up – only to feel the pain shoot straight up from her foot to her hip. She was stuck on the ground, and all she could do was crawl, for the remainder of her demonic life.

Another click, and cock of the rifle then. Vaggie couldn't help it: she froze. Alastor already had her in his sights, and was ready to deal the final blow. Gazing over her shoulder through her bangs with her lone eye, she could feel the unwanted tears begin to prickle – not just from fear, but anger. This wasn't how it was supposed to end! She had a promise to fulfill! If she died here, Charlie – _**Charlie - !**_

“Mmm, **such** a pity. You were given a golden opportunity, too.” Vaggie's breathing was ragged as he addressed her. “Not many, if any, can claim to have **ever** been in your shoes. Truly, my dear, you are a _rarity_.” 

His gaze was damning, hungry, ecstatic. “But... **that** just makes the trophy all the more _sweeter_.” Both of them were so caught up in the moment, they couldn't make out the noises from down the hall, descending upon them rapidly. “Good night, _dear_ Miss Vaggie. **This** should send you back to your proper place...of which you would do your best to mind.” Another frightening crackle in the air around them. “They are not _**nearly**_ so charming as I way below.”

It happened simultaneously: Alastor pulled the trigger, just as Vaggie raised her hand.

 **“STOP IT!”** And a blur of pale-hued motion threw herself forwards, in-between the bullet and her best friend with a sharp shove.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> Usually, at the end of these posts, I add in my general thoughts about the Chapter; what I was attempting to achieve, my thought processes, little hints & teasers, etc. However, in light of what's been happening in our world most recently...I kinda don't feel like it's appropriate?
> 
> Instead, this time, I feel it would be best to simply say, that to those of you who are leading the way in the fight for positive, long-awaited & necessary change in our communities...I support you. THANK YOU, from the bottom of my heart, for taking a stand in the name of everyone who has suffered for far too long at the hands of a flawed, unjust system. It will take time, & a whole lot of hard work. But, just seeing how far you've come now, is truly inspiring. I believe that a difference CAN, & WILL be made.
> 
> Until next time, whatever your role in all of this may be, PLEASE take care, & be safe.


	10. Shoot Me Again, I Ain't Dead Yet. But, I HAVE Died Once

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An unexpected sacrifice, and a WHOLE lotta explanations. Although still in the dark, the pages have caught up some. Also, Alastor just CAN'T seem to keep his...well, ANYTHING, away from Charlie, no matter her mental state. This does NOT bode well for Vaggie.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **EDIT:** To the Guest who left a rather personal comment on this Chapter, regarding outside issues: I am looking into the matter, & WILL do something about it. However, in the future, I must ask ALL of you, PLEASE refrain from posting things unrelated to this fic in my comments. Since AO3 doesn't have a PM feature, you can message me instead at my ff.net account. My username is the same as here, Kami-Inu. If that doesn't work, I also have a Twitter & Insta, both under the name of qls_808. Thank you for your understanding. **END EDIT**
> 
> **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/  
>  **NEW!!** https://www.instagram.com/p/CBeJN7gAsKM/

Alastor couldn't really recall many times throughout his life, human or otherwise, where he'd truly had a moment of panic. He supposed, as a small child, such an occurrence would possibly be more common, though he didn't remember being particularly fearful in any way. If anything, the memories he could gather, from his mortal years, were ones of either utter fury, or absolute euphoria. Things like 'terror', or even 'uncertainty', had never been at the forefront in how he chose to present himself or deal with his day-to-day. No, no - it was everyone _else_ who should've been afraid of him. 

In these few fleeting seconds however, from the time he pulled the trigger, to when Charlie burst through the doors and onto that ignorant little friend of hers, pushing her aside, planting herself directly in the bullet's path instead...

...the demon had felt a slight twinge, right in his chest. And it hurt, if only for an instant. His smile had shifted just so, fangs slipping against each other and grinding at an angle. He'd noted that little tick in his brow, as though furrowing with the faintest of lines.

Charlie. That kindhearted, utterly pure soul, both admirable and foolish in her hope and naivete. He had vaguely registered before, that she'd been following them as they'd made their way across the lower form of the manor. But she'd been so far behind, and he'd been so certain of his victory, that he hadn't bothered keeping track of her any further from there. She already knew not to cross him. However, her daft gal-pal did not. So, it fell upon his shoulders to teach her a lesson, even if it meant undoing Charlie's hellish 'miracle' from before.

His crafting and conjuring skills, at least, were still up to par, even after having been locked away how long in that custom-designed cell, by his Infernal Highness. Those pathetic little men, the ones he'd dispatched earlier, had given him some wonderful inspiration in designing his latest weapon. Although classic rifles were more his speed, he supposed it would be foolish to assume that the world above hadn't changed since he'd passed on; even if he couldn't see it directly, it was reflected in the sort of 'clientele' who graced the cursed depths of Lucifer's kingdom. 

Over time, their appearances had shifted, including new touches, or dropping others entirely. If that was so with humans, then why wouldn't it be the same with their various appliances as well? Even Hell itself was not immune to the adaptations. 

Oh, how tantalizing it had been, to feel the solid weight of metal in his grasp once more – and even better, now as a demon, he could wield it however he so wished. No longer was he bound by his prior form's physical restrictions. Though it might've looked a bit bulkier than he'd expected, it was easy to lift in just one hand, to take aim and fire at his feeble, balking target. The demoness had finally figured out that she'd bitten off more than she could chew, but by then, it was **far** too late for any sort of mercy on his end.

Certainly, Charlie would be devastated, yet again, to lose her companion's presence by her side. But it was not out of any sort of cruelty that he did this...mostly. Perhaps there was a **tad** involved. However, he had _not_ been the one to start this quarrel – that had been on this 'Vaggie' herself. And Alastor was not one to back down from a fight. He hadn't gotten to his status, above and below, only to turn tail at an aggressive skirt swinging her pathetic little human tool, as though it could really do anything against him.

In actuality, the only thing which could fully extinguish a demonic entity, was an established, sanctioned holy artifact. Human weaponry would barely leave a scratch, and any accumulated would heal in the blink of an eye. Those males from before, firing at him like a rabid execution squad, had been simply wasting his time, and their ammo. So Vaggie's dagger couldn't even leave the tiniest nick in his shadows, let alone get close enough to prove its uselessness against him.

However, in the case of _his_ firepower...

Demonically-crafted hardware couldn't kill a supernatural entity, either. But. Their tools could at least draw a fair amount of blood, and deal some damage that would require more time to recover from. And even if a demon was supposedly 'killed' by any one of these, no matter the form, they would simply re-materialize, albeit quite slowly, at another location in the fiery pit. 

This is what he'd been aiming for with Charlie's dear friend. If he were able to injure her enough to consider her 'dead', by demonic standards, then most likely, she would immediately disappear. Following that, she'd reform in Hell, as opposed to the surface, since from a logical standpoint – as much as you could be, regarding the paranormal – she shouldn't have been brought back to the surface in the first place, never mind in full unholy regalia. 

Of course Alastor knew what he was talking about. He'd been an accomplished killer while alive, and even in death, he knew how to build up the body count. How could he have become such a prolific and proficient Overlord otherwise? As for the manner in which he'd eliminated his enemies, to make sure they couldn't return for a Round Two...

...well, he had his ways. It wasn't as though demons _couldn't_ physically touch holy items, after all. They just had to be really, really, _**really**_ careful.

With his specially-designed rifle here, he'd been aiming for the rounds – materializing from him with every bullet spent – to leave quite the damage in their wake. Upon making contact with the intended target, they would explode on impact. Hence why that first shot had taken a chunk out of the study's wall. A shame, really; the architecture in this place was rather tasteful. Surprising, given Lucifer's penchant for flamboyance. Or maybe that was merely in Hell. Perhaps he'd reigned it in some upon his arrival up above.

The point was, one of those, straight to the head, would've been more than enough to send Miss Vaggie packing for eternal damnation. Everything had been aligned so perfectly; she'd fallen down, couldn't adjust herself, and was forced to resort to a crooked crawl. Not nearly fast enough to escape his aim, or the pull of the trigger. 

But, right as he did so...

Hmm, was this a common happening for others as well? To have so many things happen in the span of a second, yet feeling as though it were slowed down? He supposed there was always a time for firsts, but in regards to this current happening...he hadn't been a fan. 

Just as the bullet was leaving the barrel, Charlie had already been stumbling through the doorway on unsteady legs, like a baby deer just learning to walk, but the speed cranked up to an abnormal degree. He'd heard her cry out, the “ **STOP IT!** ” like a piercing, singular siren. His eyes had widened slightly – before the rest of his reaction had kicked in, seeing her forcing aside his original victim with a tumbling shove across the floor. Vaggie had grunted and gasped, as Charlie had collapsed in her prior position instead. 

Alastor hadn't had time to think. All he could do was react. If Charlie took that bullet - well, what would happen? Of course his grandiose hopes and plans for the future, even if they were still in the works, would be absolutely _**ruined!**_ And, more than that...

...where would she even _go?_ Would he be able to find her again? Would she still be the same as before? So many questions – too many for his liking. Crafty though he might've been, if he were to truly consider Charlie as any sort of 'Master', then wasn't it a servant's duty...to defend them from any assault?

Even their own?

**…...**

“Ah - ?!” Charlie felt the hard impact of her body landing against the wooden study floor. The pain was a bit startling, but nothing that she hadn't already experienced, in some form, over the course of that night. All she knew was that, in her eyes, no matter the outcome...she'd done the right thing.

Alastor had had Vaggie cornered. He'd been touting some sort of monstrous weapon, and it was aimed directly at her. She'd heard – and seen – the first round that had come flying out of that thing, blasting into the wall just as she'd been drawing upon the room. The reverb was astounding, and the debris showering across the hallway was as though a bomb had gone off. At first, that's what she'd honestly thought had happened...until she'd darted inside.

It had taken longer than she'd wanted; her energy had been waning, and her legs were like rubber. She'd taken quite a few more tumbles than expected, and it had taken all of her power not to scream or throw up once more upon the unfortunate souls whose lifeless bodies had been surrounding her. Some of them were staring, and it was almost accusingly. 

Or maybe that was just her nerves talking. Either way, she'd had a job to do. 

She knew, as she'd slid across the ground, wind knocked out of her once more, that she would die. But she didn't care. Charlie had not experienced what she had this night, just to lose Vaggie again! She wouldn't allow it! The thought of having to watch the young woman – whatever she may've been now – dying a **second** time, was too much for her to bear. At least if she died, she'd be returning the favor. Vaggie had put her life on the line just to ensure everyone's safety; Charlie wouldn't be a coward and shy away from her own mortality. 

Even if it hurt...she didn't regret it. She'd knew she'd die quickly. It wouldn't be anything like watching Vaggie and how she'd suffered.

But instead of an immediate, explosive second impact...Charlie heard the sound of a pop, plus sizzling. At the same time, a gust of air swept over her...

...bringing with it a strange scent of smoke. Then, the _**bang.**_

The shriek that left her mouth was completely drowned out by the contact of the bullet. Hearing it so near was even worse than when she'd been in close proximity with the anti-soldier's gun. The blowback from this contraption and how its shots landed – there was **no** comparison. She would be surprised if, after all of this, she still had her hearing left. Her ears were ringing, and everything seemed to be muted. Lifting her head wearily, she could make out Vaggie, sprawled over lopsidedly, sitting up on shaky arms, regarding her with shock. 

Why, though...? As her senses slowly returned to her, Charlie realized: she hadn't been hit. The round had struck something, but it wasn't her. Vaggie was now mouthing to her, waving one arm with whatever strength she had left, motioning in front of Charlie. As she turned her head carefully, sound gradually filtering back in, Charlie could see...

...a dark, crimson shadow, blocking her line of sight. As the details continued to filer in, Charlie felt the disbelief start to rise. The fresh scent of something else upon the air was now invading her nostrils. Burning...and _**blood**_.

“Urgh...my dear Master, truly...'cough' ...you _do_ intend to put me through my paces.” That voice was the first thing she could hear, as her senses finally stabilized. There, crouched before her...was Alastor. Trembling slightly where he stood, his great grin was still in place as he regarded her with a jerk of his head over his shoulder. But this time...a fine trail of scarlet liquid was trickling down from his lip to his chin. 

Charlie couldn't even begin to get flustered over his choice of address. Had he seriously done what she thought he had?! Gaze darting back towards Vaggie, she'd stopped with her prior shouting, and was now simply staring in muted incredulity. Eyes flashing back to the imposing figure before her, the heiress realized...that he was starting to sway.

Her actions were immediate; Charlie was already sitting up before he finally fell against her, his back to her front. She let out a little grunt, but was able to balance his weight, unstable and sore though she might've been. Carefully adjusting herself so she could see him better, without triggering his obvious injured state, she felt her heart sink at the sight which greeted her. 

There, embedded into the left side of his ribs, was a large, ugly, gaping hole. Whatever he'd fired had burned clean through his coat and shirt beneath, burying itself in his skin before going off. The blood pouring out was a deep shade of wine, soaking into the rest of the fabric, and obscuring the edges of visible grey flesh. It was already beginning to drip down off the side, to puddle upon the floor. Although he wasn't wincing or flinching, it was apparent that the wound was having an effect on him. His breathing was shallow, and stilted. 

Alastor wasn't going to lie: perhaps he'd been a _little_ overzealous in his weapon's craftsmanship. It wasn't as though he'd never suffered any sort of injury before – his past life, and its lingering scars, were all the testament he needed to that. But, it had been almost an eternity since he'd actually experienced any real damage at the hands of a demon, let alone their items of attack. In fact, the last time he'd shed any blood...

...was when _**Lucifer himself**_ had come calling. But that was neither here nor there.

What **was** important, was that he'd just pulled _quite_ the impulsive move, in order to secure his future entertainment source. But it was the only thing he could think of in that second. His shadows wouldn't have been able to reach her quickly, nor could he have conjured up anything that would've been suitable to stop the round from striking its target, let alone fast enough. His teleportation was the best option he had, even if it was also the riskiest, leaving behind this immense hinderance to his physical state. 

No, he wasn't about to die. Not from merely one hit. But _goodness,_ if he didn't know how to make a proper arsenal! Maybe next time, he should downgrade to a more simplified pistol instead. He could see the lifeforce pouring out, and mentally cursed behind his great golden grin. The taste of blood swirled around his tongue; he wasn't really fond of the flavor unless it was exclusively not his own. And, more so on top of that...

How **weak** he must've looked here, how _pitiful!_ After all of his showy prowess over the course of the entire night, only to end on such a note as this! Even with his abilities, it would take time for the wound to heal fully, and no matter how long that would be...Alastor _**hated**_ being detained, for any length. He wasn't some petty underling of the underworld, no – he was a **King** in his own right. Many others already regarded him as such, having seen his power firsthand, and those who didn't, well, heh...

...they'd understand _soon enough_.

“Al...? Can you hear me?” That voice, so softly inquiring, like the coo of a shy dove. Heavy-lidded eyes slipping upwards, Alastor's gaze locked upon Charlie's own, every last trace of emotion laid bare across her features for him to read like a book. Her eyes were wide, dark irises trained on his exclusively, lips slightly parted, and she wasn't blinking, though her stare was wavering. He really hoped that she wouldn't start crying again. 

Tears were not an action that he took kindly to in his presence, unless he were in the mood for such a response. In _her_ case, however...there was just something about seeing those little droplets fall from that round, innocent stare. Even with her full cheeks flushed, makeup smudged all about, hair falling in her face haphazardly...he couldn't stop imagining her with a full smile.

He always encouraged folks to smile. For him, it was a tactic he'd learned early on, to conceal and intimidate. No matter the circumstances, he never lost his smile, never broke down and gave up. His opponents wouldn't have any idea what he could possibly be thinking, what he'd do next. And the fact that they couldn't ruffle his feathers or disturb him...it would either terrify them, making his victory far easier, or it would anger them immensely, also guaranteeing his win. 

Not everybody automatically looked good with a smile, mind you. Even if he... _beckoned_ others to follow his example, that didn't mean he hadn't his own personal opinions behind closed doors. He was perfectly free to acknowledge to himself, who could **really** do with some work when it came to the department of facing the world in a pleasant manner. 

With Charlie, though...he'd somehow instinctively known, even if he hadn't acknowledged it, from the moment they'd first met: a smile should never be far from her lips. And to see someone like her, so pure by nature, tainted in design...looking down at him, caring and engaged, as though his current condition truly weighed heavy on her heart...

_...he couldn't **stand** it._

“Charlie-belle...that expression doesn't suit you.” She jumped just slightly; she'd been so lost taking in his entirety, that she'd almost forgotten he was still conscious. Swallowing quietly, she held back the temptation to brush her fingers over the bloodstain under his lips. She knew he didn't appreciate contact; most likely, the only reason he wasn't attempting to push her away here, was because he simply couldn't. Taking in a trembling breath, doing her best to avoid jostling him any further, Charlie tried to gauge the severity of the situation. “Does...how badly does it hurt?” Although she genuinely wanted to help, Charlie couldn't help feeling so foolish.

This man, this creature, this being – in the course of one night, he'd turned her entire existence upside-down. Not like those terrorists hadn't already done their fair share of that already, but once he'd swooped in on the scene, there'd been absolutely no chance of things returning to any modicum of 'normal', whatever that would look like even without the paranormal elements. Whatever havoc he had wrought in his wake, however, Charlie could not deny two things:

One, she'd been the one to bring him back into this world. No matter if it was attributed to her heritage, the point was that she'd made the choice to investigate that odd glow, and tamper with that door. She hadn't fought to send him back, either. 

And two, he'd saved her life. Next to Vaggie, it was entirely because of him that she hadn't accrued more injuries over the course of everything, by virtue of being a fatally efficient shield and spear, that she hadn't even wanted to wield. But, in the heat of the moment, she'd had to make a choice, and that choice had been...to accept his uncanny presence in her life, from here on out. 

He'd seemed to know quite a bit about her situation, in particular her parents. Perhaps, there was a possibility...he could even help her figure out what had happened to them??

“Charlie...what's going on?” Instantly, the spell was broken; hesitantly, the blonde found herself looking towards her dearest friend. Confusion and vexation was written all over her features. It was that sight which reminded Charlie of one more fact:

Alastor may have saved her hide, and gotten her out of multiple sticky situations...but he'd also tried to go after Vaggie, knowing how much she meant to her. Yes, the young woman hadn't made things easy either, challenging him head-on. But he could've just as well tried to explain, instead of jumping right into the action! Maybe then, Charlie would've had more of an opportunity to calm her down, and get everything sorted out! 

After all, Vaggie had witnessed unnatural events and abilities shortly before her death, and then had been reborn with no explanation, only to come face-to-face with said mastermind behind all of those mysterious happenings! Vaggie wasn't one to just sit down and talk things out, and as her...well, _whatever_ he considered himself, Alastor should've at least understood not to exacerbate the situation. Especially since he'd apparently had no idea as to how or why Vaggie had returned, either!

And here they were now: Vaggie, battered once more, herself being drenched in more blood that wasn't her own, and Alastor, the one who was actually bleeding out in her arms. All because he'd thrown himself into the line of fire...which had come from his own weapon. How did any of this make even a lick of sense?!

“Why?” The question sounded so broken, falling from Vaggie's lips. “He...He wanted to hurt you – hell, he tried to – to _kill_ me! But then...he does this?? What...” She shook her head, hair drooping forwards like a thick curtain. A few more moments of silence, before she was finally able to lift her gaze again. She was desperate for answers. “I don't – I don't even...understand entirely what's – what's going on with **me**...so what on Earth is _he?_ ”

A cough then, from the male beneath her beloved. Apparently, Alastor had something to say. “My dear, you should...already be well aware, that I am **not** of this Earth, as neither are you any longer.” Another cough. “And, if I'm not mistaken... _you_ were the one who pursued me first, on an...unfounded assumption. Not I to you.” Now he was chuckling softly – how could he do so with that damn pit in his side?? “What is it they say...” 

He gestured limply, extending an arm to their surroundings. “...'never judge a book by its cover'?” At this, Charlie gave her best friend a sorrowful look.

“He's right, Vaggie...” Alastor had been wrong in his actions. But Vaggie too, had jumped the gun, no pun intended. It was time to clear the air. “Alastor...is a demon. I found him, upstairs.” Vaggie's lone eye widened, but Charlie didn't give her a chance to interject. “I locked myself in my parents' room. There was a door in there. Somehow, I was able to open it. And he came out.”

Then, her expression became passionately pleading. “But, he never hurt me! I-I was cornered, by the leader and his goons...and, he saved me. Because, I released him. My F-Father...was the one who had locked him away.” Upon hearing that, Vaggie's jaw dropped. But since no words seemed to be coming forth, Charlie continued on. “Because...my Father, a-and my Mother – they're not normal. They're not human. But I am. Yet, also...not? I still...don't quite understand it myself.”

Now, Charlie had her head tilted downwards, tears finally filling her eyes. Her gaze wasn't focused on Alastor, however; she appeared to simply be staring off at nothing. “What I do know, though, is that...whatever it is, that's in me...it's why you w-were able to-to come back. And that...no matter how – how scary he may seem, or dangerous his methods...” Her voice was dropping to something akin to a whisper. 

“Alastor saved my life, just as much as you did. I w-wouldn't have been able, to even find you again, i-if it hadn't been for him. And now...all of this has happened. B-Because...I couldn't fix things in time. It's my fault...” Vaggie could hear a million and one questions screaming to life in her head, but at that moment, all she wanted to do, more than anything, was to crawl over, and wrap up the taller girl in the warmest embrace she could manage.

This... _ **creature**_ , Alastor. He shouldn't exist. Whether or not she truly trusted him though, Vaggie was willing to acknowledge that Charlie was safe. Not only that, but if there was one thing Charlie was absolutely _abysmal_ at, it was lying. So, even if her words were misguided or her beliefs were ill-placed, she was committed to them one-hundred-percent. On top of that...

He had thrown himself in front of that damn bullet, when he could've just as easily let Charlie die. It seemed as though, he did bear at least some sort of loyalty to her, for what she'd apparently done above, in their first encounter. As Vaggie continued to watch the pair closely, she took note...of just how _intently_ the red being watched her beloved. She couldn't quite make out the emotion to his features, but his stare left nothing to the imagination: he was hanging on Charlie's every word.

Plip. Plip. Plip. Alastor felt them then, like warm, tiny little raindrops. They fell upon his chest and neck, a light, unbalanced shower. Charlie had officially reached her limits, body trembling with the fresh sobs that wracked her thin frame yet again. The only difference here was that they were quieter. He'd been listening to her words all this time, and still couldn't understand, even in the silence...

...how somebody could look upon _**him**_ , and feel any sort of empathy. Or, that anybody could ever blame themselves for whatever sort of battery he experienced. Truthfully, he blamed that wretched woman Vaggie, for all of this recent hullabaloo. But he wasn't about to say that here and now. The situation was already bad enough as it was. Tilting his chin up just so, he could make out the pitiful expression on Charlie's face, and, oh _no_...

...but that just _**wouldn't**_ do.

Gradually, Alastor was getting used to the dull throbbing in his side, even as the blood continued to gush out. That entire custom job really left one hell of a mark in its wake. However, he wasn't entirely useless. He still had a trick or two up his sleeve, if only to remedy the current state of things. If encouraging a smile wouldn't do it, then he'd just have to take some other... _slightly_ drastic methods. Even if he had many other preferred flavors of choice. 

Taking in a deep breath, Alastor proceeded to hoist his upper body -

“Huh...?” Charlie's vision had suddenly darkened, in smudged shades of scarlet, black and grey, as a sudden presence entered her space. Hot breath grazed her wet face, but she didn't get a chance to react, before a long appendage slipped out, and began lapping at her cheek. Her heart nearly stopped dead in her chest, as everything hit Charlie at once:

 _Alastor._ It was _**Alastor.**_ He was doing this. Well, good that he could move! That wasn't the problem here! What was the issue, then?

That he was _licking at her tears_ like a dog would kiss their owner. It was...so unfathomably _**intimate**_ a gesture, and of all people, it was a _demon_ doing so to her! And a _male_ demon, at that - ! Instantly, all the blood seemed to rush to her face, and Charlie swore she was getting lightheaded. Her palms were pressing, clutching at the ground beneath her for all she was worth, lest she fall right over from the shock and crack her skull. 

If she thought she was the only one with issues here however, she had another thing coming. Vaggie was still watching, first muted and confounded, before her eye had threatened to pop right out of its socket at the display before her. She was seeing red all over again, and furiously attempting to right herself and crawl over. Like _fuck_ she would allow this, powerful demon or not! “ **HEY!** ”

Looks like this was one more thing Charlie would have to divulge: the fact that Alastor did not seem to have any understanding regarding the concept of 'personal space'. At the same time, he didn't want anybody invading his own. Contradictory or what? She had a lot of explaining to do in his case.

For now though, Charlie would focus on regaining her senses and motor functions...before Vaggie decided to attempt a follow-up brawl with her strange new associate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...still going easy with the Notes at the end here. Just wanted to say, thank you all for not being afraid to speak out & stand up in the name of injustice. Bit by bit, we're on our way to a better, brighter world. 
> 
> Also, more thanks for all of your continued support on this story. We've now hit the double-digits for Chapters, & I couldn't be happier. As always, feedback is welcomed, encouraged, & appreciated. 👍🏻💖
> 
> Until next time, take care, & be safe. ❤️❤️❤️


	11. Come On Baby, Can't You Bleed Like Me? Or On Me, That Works Too

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Get busy living, or get busy dying." Granted, he's already dead, but Alastor still has no intention of taking this setback lying down. After some introspection and musing between gal-pals however, Charlie comes to him with an offer. Will he listen?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!**💖💖💖
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CBeJN7gAsKM/

It took a moment of pulling her face away quickly, a lot of shuffling around awkwardly and arm flailing, an attempt or two to keep Alastor from being a smart-ass, and a good few minutes to help Vaggie settle down. But in the end, Charlie was able to prevent a fresh massacre, only afflicted with a skipping heart and damp brow in the process. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks however, and was sure it had left quite the rosy coloration. Just her luck that she'd be blessed with such an obvious facial setup, broadcasting her embarrassment to the world in all sorts of warm, cutesy hues. 

Not only that, though...she could still _feel_ Alastor's tongue, flicking against her cheekbones. How it dragged along lightly under her eyes, catching every last tear that had tried to spill over from then on. When she'd gotten a chance to fully look at him properly following this, he'd been smirking, slipping the appendage in and out between two rows of golden teeth, making a show of what he'd tasted.

“Mmm, yes...I do much prefer your blood, dearest Charlie-belle.” And cue Charlie nearly wanting to slap her hand right over his mouth, as Vaggie let loose another string of expletives, harshly demanding explanations. When had Charlie gone from heiress to zookeeper?

She shook her head, wondering how the heck they were all going to make it from the study. Alastor was gravely injured, even if he wouldn't acknowledge it, and Vaggie's whole left leg was out of commission as well. Plus, she herself was notably sporting noodle-legs of her own, after that last desperate sprint down the hall. 

It wasn't a problem to bear his weight upon the floor, but being so unbalanced standing, would she have it in her to provide him support when they actually started moving? Vaggie couldn't do it, she already had her own issues to deal with. More to the point, she most likely wouldn't have, seeing as right now, she trusted Alastor about as far as she could throw him. This was only a truce for the time being, with Charlie acting as diplomat to two warring parties. And, being in her current state, there was no way she'd be able to support both her best friend and the male at the same time. But she didn't just want to leave one here, and then come back - !

Suddenly, without warning, Alastor stood up in a swift motion, now standing over her crumpled form. Smiling down, seeming to relish in the surprise that was certainly present on her face, he offered her a clawed hand. Vaggie was scowling, but said nothing. As Charlie timidly placed her own smaller one in his, no longer hesitant towards the contact, he tightened his grip, pulling her up in one go. She let out a little squeal, nearly falling against him, but catching herself quickly. An amused chortle left his lips as he looked her over, at the same time regarding him in disbelief.

“Darling...you _know_ what I am. If those pesky pea-shooters from before couldn't take me down, then I'll live through this, as well.” Although Charlie wanted to retort, she held back. It could be addressed later; it wasn't as though she didn't note the way he had his other hand now pressed against the wound. 

Glancing over his shoulder almost lazily, he nodded towards Vaggie, who was still down and fuming. “Besides, I think there's someone who is in **far** greater need of your services than I.” Returning to a stock-straight pose, he proceeded to walk out of the study. 

Sure, he still had the option of teleporting. Right now though, he was focused entirely on saving his energy for the regeneration process. And besides...his legs weren't broken. If he could use them, then why not? It wasn't good to only always rely on hell-powers, anyway.

 _What a guy, huh...?_ Even while wounded, his persona never faded or slipped. Charlie stared in disbelief for a couple more seconds, before shaking her head, and turning her focus to Vaggie on the ground. 

After a few moments of discussion and assurance, Charlie was able to get her on her feet, or foot. Leaning her right side into Charlie's left with an arm draped over her shoulder, while the other's was wrapped around her waist, the two girls were able to limp from the large room together. Not nearly as stylish as Alastor's exit had been, but it would do. 

As soon as they stood back outside in the hallway however, they were presented with a new set of problems: where would they go from here? And how?

Charlie had forgotten just how... _cluttered_ , the path had become. She didn't like using such terms to describe the placement of dead bodies, but it was true enough. There were a **lot** of obstacles waiting to potentially trip them up. Most likely, they would fall over, at some point. Plus, now that they weren't running at breakneck speeds, it was going to take even longer to get through. By the time they made it back to the main area, Vaggie would need to lie down. And then, beyond that...

The stairs. Since she'd moved in, Charlie and Vaggie had simply been sharing a room. Her bed was spacious, and it was easier to just stick together, instead of having things in separate locations. Keeping their personal belongings in a single place meant that there was only one location they had to run to for anything.

There was no way, that both Vaggie and Charlie were going to be able to make the trek from the hallway to the living area, and then up the stairs. If Charlie actually remembered where her room was now, since her life was no longer on the line, whether it was up one flight of stairs or two, it didn't matter. It was ridiculous to expect Vaggie to travel that far. 

Had Charlie been feeling better, she would've just tried to carry her friend the whole way – it wasn't like she hadn't done so before, when they were just goofing off. Their height difference was something Charlie had always enjoyed playing around with. Vaggie would protest, but eventually give in with a smirk. Unfortunately, that wasn't an option at this time.

The uncertainty and queries rushing through her head must've been written too blatantly in her features, because Charlie came to with a sudden tap to her shoulder. Looking over, she saw Vaggie addressing her, a soft smile on her face. Her voice was gentle and reassuring. 

“Hey, Hon...it's okay. I think I've got an idea of what's on your mind here.” She turned her gaze towards the other end of the hallways, where the unopened rooms remained. “There are plenty of empty suites here, right? And they should still be useable. As long as nobody went to die in them, anyways. I won't be offed by a few dust-bunnies.” Charlie let out a little scoff at this, though the worry was still present. She didn't want to...well, come across like she was just dumping her friend somewhere else. 

Shaking her head and sighing, seeing that she hadn't yet gotten through to her beloved, Vaggie lightly tugged at the young woman's blonde locks. She squeaked in surprise, now listening intently again. “ **Charlie**. I'll be **fine**. I appreciate you looking out for me. But I'm not fragile. Hurt, sure. But we're not attached at the hip. At least, until I heal up, we can manage this way.” After a few seconds of silent contemplation, Charlie finally acknowledged her with a nod of agreement.

If she could be honest here...Vaggie didn't want to leave Charlie's side. At all. Even if she would admit the logic to Charlie's concerns, that didn't mean she was completely all right with it. They'd gotten through the eye of the storm, but only for tonight. There was still the looming, ongoing problem...of that bastard beast in crimson. _Alastor_ , as he called himself.

As they made their way towards the room at the very end, Vaggie couldn't help but voice her misgivings. “Charlie...be careful.” When she turned to look at her in questioning, the demoness let out a sigh. “With that demon guy. I know what you told me about him, and you, but still...” 

Charlie furrowed her brow slightly, as they neared the door. “But what? He's not going to cause any more trouble. He even got himself injured, when I - ” 

Vaggie placed a finger to her lips. “I **know**. And I can acknowledge that. Just...he's a _demon_. And a _**very**_ powerful one, at that. The things he's capable of – that goes beyond most of even what I learned from my folks. I've _never_ heard of anyone like him before.” Swallowing as Charlie opened the door, she removed her hand. “The kind of abilities he possesses...they're _beyond_ dangerous.”

The suite they stepped into was spacious enough, so Vaggie would have the room to get around without worry of tripping or bumping into anything. Aside from a few layers of dust, it was good to go. Flipping the light switch, and letting out a groan upon realizing that yes, the electricity was gone on this end, too, Charlie returned her attention to helping her friend to the bed instead, though not without her own retort. 

“You're a...a demon now too though, Vaggie...” It was hard to acknowledge. Still, she couldn't avoid it forever. She saw the young woman flinch slightly, but she didn't attempt to stop her. Charlie went on. “I mean...he mainly seems interested in me. So, as long as I can...keep him busy, or entertained, it'll be okay. After all, I was the one who got him out of...wherever he was. That's gotta count for something, right?”

They'd reached the bed. As Charlie started pulling down the covers and fluffing the pillows, Vaggie removed herself from her beloved's side, carefully easing down on the edge of the mattress. “That may be true...but Charlie, who do you know better? Me, or him?” Charlie felt a pang in her chest; yes, she'd been with Vaggie far longer than she'd known Alastor. But in just this short amount of time, one night, he'd left an impression she wasn't about to forget anytime soon. “And...what happens if he decides he has no more use for you?”

At this, she halted in her actions. She didn't want to dwell on it, but...Charlie couldn't deny that Vaggie had a point. Even the arrangement they'd come to addressed this little clause. If he were to lose interest, Alastor was free to leave. However, knowing what he was able to achieve, with barely any effort...

...was it a guarantee that he would let her be, if or when he returned to wherever he chose to go? Most likely Hell, but still. Even if he claimed she was Lucifer's daughter. That wasn't an automatic guarantee he'd spare her life, if he truly got bored to the point where even just leaving her alive was a bore. What if his next amusement, at the very end of things...was _**her**_ end?

Charlie could feel her fists clenching in the sheets. She didn't want to believe it. She wouldn't. He'd saved her life, twice! And the second time, she hadn't even asked him for his help! He'd taken that round himself, of his own free will. Whatever the reason, that wound he'd sustained, was not something to be shrugged off. Alastor was definitely ruthless, and didn't necessarily strike her as unwaveringly generous. That's why she'd come up with the agreement between them in the first place. 

So, to have him pulling such a stunt on her behalf, even while he'd first screwed up by going after her dear friend? That had to count for something. He might've been shady as fuck, but Charlie wanted to believe that he had at least a shred of honor in him. He did like to think of himself as a 'gentleman', after all. He had to have some sort of standards he ascribed to.

The sheets and comforter were all turned down, and Charlie motioned for Vaggie to come over. With the assistance of extra hands, the moth girl was finally settled under the blankets. Brushing her hand over Vaggie's hair, away from her gaze, Charlie gave her what she hoped was a confident and convincing enough smile, to prove that she knew what she was doing. 

“Don't worry. I'm a big girl. I can handle this guy. If there's one thing I actually learned from Dad, it's that “you don't take shit from others”.” The same words she'd mentally quoted to herself how long ago this evening, in regards to the same figure. “Though I suppose now, I'd be adding 'demon' on the end of that, but yeah. My point stands.” Charlie headed towards the door, and all Vaggie could do was watch her with anxiety and hope. Hope that her girl was right, but at the same time...fear that she didn't realize just what she was getting into here. 

Before closing the door, Charlie gave her a last sweet smile. “It'll be okay, Vaggie. Trust me.” The young woman could only offer a stiff nod of acknowledgement, as she closed the door behind her. “Good night.”

“'Night...” Vaggie's reply trailed off into the empty air. As her vision rapidly adjusted to the surrounding darkness, she sat up from the pillows, throwing the sheets off of her. It took a few moments, but eventually, she managed to crawl across the mattress to the foot of the bed. Gingerly, she stepped down, doing her best to avoid triggering anything in her injured leg. Once she was satisfied with her balance, Vaggie stepped forwards, haltingly.

Directly before her, was a vanity dresser with a mirror. The layouts in these rooms were pretty similar, Charlie's included. She should've just forgotten about it; left it to be taken care of in the morning, when she was hopefully feeling a little better. But, she just had to find out. As her hands grasped at the wooden countertop, Vaggie could finally get a good look, at the being who stared back at her from the reflective surface. The being she had now become.

She wasn't entirely sure how to feel about this. On the one hand...yes, she could recognize herself. Her hair was longer, in a different shade, her clothes were switched, and her working eye had changed – but the way everything came together, it was still her. It was _**her**_ , Vaggie. If she had to be a demon, then this wasn't a bad look to be stuck with, she supposed.

At the same time, however...

...she was _dead_. She'd seen her own body, lifeless on the floor. She'd fucking _**died**_ , and had come back as a goddamn – pun intended? - _**demon**_. An unholy creature; something her family had warned her of through stories told at bedtime, something that she'd always kept watch for, even if she didn't always follow the same beliefs as her folks. She'd seen enough to say that there was real evil in this world, beyond just the catcalling creeps on the street corners, or the abusive assholes behind closed doors. Those were just the ones she was more familiar with, personally.

She'd called out Alastor, on the basis of being a demon. She'd been willing to go up against him, risking her newly acquired un-life, just to send him back to Hell. She thought she'd been helping Charlie, protecting her, even...but she herself was the very thing she'd sought to destroy. She didn't even know why she was back on Earth to begin with, why she hadn't just wound up in Hell, too. Perhaps...that was the red heat she'd seen and felt, while floating in that...that nowhere? That nothing?

The point was, she wasn't meant to be here. Even Alastor had hinted as much. Her being here was an anomaly. And, no matter her intentions...who's to say that she couldn't very well hurt Charlie, too?

 _ **No!**_ Her fist slammed on the dresser top – and immediately, Vaggie winced. Shouldn't have done that so soon. But the message was clear: the day that Vaggie ever harmed Charlie, by virtue of being this accursed creature, was the day she snagged a weapon from Alastor himself – if he were still around – and sent herself down to the fiery pits. Because that was something she'd never forgive, from _anyone_. She was no exception to this rule.

And even Charlie...she'd claimed to be part demon too, hadn't she? That was how Alastor had been able to break free in the first place. But, how could that be? Charlie was the closest thing Vaggie had even known of an angel. She couldn't hurt anybody, not even a fly! She would watch where she stepped in the grass, just to avoid the tiny flowers that tended to sprout up on occasion! For fuck's sake! Anyone could be a demon then, in that case?!

Vaggie's head was swimming. This was too much for her to take in, all at once. Now, she'd had her fill of further investigation and speculation. It was time to hit the hay. She didn't really know if demons slept, but...guess there was only one way to find out. So, just as attentively as she had before, Vaggie crossed the expanse of floor, to return to the sanctuary of her bed covers. Once she'd managed to snuggle up under them as well as she could manage in her current state, she shut her eye.

Right now, there was nothing that could be done. Whatever her reservations or distrusts of Alastor, Vaggie had no choice but to follow Charlie's lead. The best she could do was, once healed, watch the fuck out of him, and be prepared for if – or _when_ – his true intentions were revealed. Until then, though...

 _God, help us. We're all sinners, but...not all of us asked to be. On that note, if only... **please** , keep Charlie safe where I am unable._ With that silent mental plea, Vaggie allowed herself to drift away into a deep, fitful slumber.

**…...**

By the time she'd finished getting Vaggie settled down, and getting through the hallway with as few stumbles as was possible while feeling like living gelatin, Charlie was just about ready to flop down on the couch, and pass out. 

Yes, she knew it was seriously fucked up, to think of sleeping with all the dead bodies around. That, and disturbing. At this point though, it was well after midnight. She didn't even know where to begin on figuring out how to clean and repair everything, let alone disposing of the corpses in a suitable manner. The whole situation was confusing and sickening and morbid, and she really didn't have many options. If this got out to the media...forget her life, the whole _world_ would be in an uproar! 

She felt disgusting and tired, guilty and strained. And it was made all the worse by her just wanting to sleep. She'd at least get some energy back by doing so, if she could actually knock out, but just considering the thought, the way things were now, made her feel like absolute scum. She couldn't divide herself from the mentality of everything tonight having been her fault. Even if she felt like shit, she owed these people something. They lost their lives senselessly. She was saved, no matter if the methods employed were extreme.

Upon staggering into the parlor, Charlie's tired eyes spotted the seat in question. Maybe she didn't have to sleep, she could just...sit for a little bit, and catch her breath? Yeah, that sounded good. She could take the time and attempt to sort out a few of her thoughts. Even just a few was better than none at all.

But, wonder of wonders, as she crept up to and around the back side of the cushions...it was already occupied, by one seemingly unconscious and bloodied, Radio Demon. Charlie felt her breath hitch in her throat, as she took in his sleeping form.

Even while lying unmoving, Alastor bore a smile on his lips. No teeth, however – they were completely closed. Those wide, vivid eyes of his were shut entirely, hidden behind darkened lids. His hands were folded atop his chest, though his pose wasn't completely straight; one leg was drawn up somewhat, while the other hung over the edge. His hair was a mess, but not in any sort of unmanageable way. Those antlers were sticking up through them, small and unthreatening now. His thick bangs added further shadows to his features, dimming the gleam to his monocle. 

As Charlie's eyes roved over his slumbering figure – she couldn't help it, he was _fascinating_ \- her stare dropped down...

...to the fresh wound in his side, still damp with blood that was already beginning to stain the cushions. Instantly, her chest tightened sharply. 

Whether or not he'd been in the wrong, it still remained: the reason Alastor had gotten hurt, was because of her. Her impulsive actions, rushing into the middle of things, and turning herself into a human...erm, part-human shield. It was painful, the tug-of-war she was currently experiencing inside her heart; she cared for Vaggie dearly. She refused to let anything else happen to her. She wouldn't regret wanting to protect her, like she'd already done on her behalf how many times before. At the other end of things, however...

...Alastor had saved her life tonight. More than once. Even if the concerns Vaggie had were legitimate...he'd made her a promise, one which he hadn't been forced into. He'd actually agreed to her terms, when she'd offered them in place of his possible trickster's deal. He hadn't harmed her at any point – sure, nearly gave her a few dozen heart attacks, and **_really_** needed to learn some boundaries, but never once laid a claw on her. He'd fulfilled their arrangement flawlessly, to the point of putting himself in this state. 

Charlie knew he was unpredictable, but at the same time...in her heart of hearts, she wanted to trust him. Everybody deserved a chance. Even a demon, locked away by her own Father. Perhaps this would be her undoing, but so be it. Charlie was an adult now, and she was going to make just as many mistakes as she would have successes. The differences between them, she couldn't be certain. But she'd never know unless she tried. For now...she would keep her contract with this wild card, and see what was in store for all of them.

Besides...he knew more about who she and her family really were. Even if it were hard to believe, she needed him here. Long enough to figure everything out, and move forwards.

Her gaze lingered on the open gash. It was pretty wide; a full-sized gauze patch would most likely be required to cover it, along with a lot of medicine – if it would even help, most likely not – and a whole roll of bandages, plus tape. She didn't know if they had any safety pins lying around, though there should be a first-aid kit in, if not the guest bathroom, then definitely upstairs. It would take a bit of extra energy to obtain and take care of, but...

Most of Vaggie's wounds had seem to be major bruising, along with some smaller cuts and scrapes on the outside. Inside, there could've easily been pulled muscles, if not outright broken bones. A pang then; she really couldn't be certain, and she hadn't even discussed the option of any sort of dressings for them. Would Vaggie have agreed? Would she have appreciated it? Had she been waiting for her to ask?

When Alastor had been shot by the mercenaries, all those wounds had vanished in an instant. She'd seen them heal, right before her eyes. But, this one...it lingered. She couldn't tell if it was getting any better at all. And that only served to increase her worry. The gun he'd used, was most likely something of his own rendering. Did that have something to do with it? Considering how impressive his skill-set was, getting hit by that bullet...might've basically been like getting struck by his own power, in a concentrated form. 

Charlie could already feel her face going pale, even with the faint heat in her cheeks, from studying this strange man so. Could he...was it possible, that he, no matter how self-assured he presented as...might've been his own undoing with this wound?? A violent jump in her chest then; she was being reminded of her heart's existence, with a flood of anxiety and horror. 

However, that was nothing compared to the leap it made, at the sudden chuckle that lilted into the air, red eyes flying open. “ _Dearest_ Charlie-belle...it's not very polite to stare.” Managing to just barely hold back the shriek that wanted to burst forth from her protesting throat, Charlie's legs tangled together as she took a hasty step back. In a second, she was on the floor with a thud. 

Now, the heat from before was returning in full force, as Alastor continued to laugh, rising from his position on the couch. As his voice softened and trailed off, Charlie lifted her head, trying to use her hair to hide the blush spread across her cheeks. To think, she'd been so frightened for him just a moment ago - ! This tricky, cheeky fellow! 

Unfortunately, she was unable to avoid his attention. A sharp set of four fingers had already found their way to her cheeks, squishing them together like a fish as he tilted her face upwards to look at her. Charlie did her best to look as miffed as she could, but it had no effect. Even she knew that she couldn't take herself seriously like this. It was only made worse when she locked eyes with the vermillion antihero, regarding her like a...a cute pet, or something similar. Again, the low snickering.

“My dear, while that expression is quite unnecessary for your features...I can't lie and say that it's not _captivating_ , in its own way.” Another squeeze or two of her face – amazingly, his claws, which earlier had been able to tear through solid human matter, **weren't** piercing her skin. Was she just lucky? Or...was he actually being careful? 

After a few more seconds of giggling and contemplation, Alastor finally released her. Huffing with a pout to herself, Charlie shook her hair out, and smoothed her skirt. He didn't seem like he were going anywhere else for the time being – where would he go, anyway? - so, she figured for now, she'd stay put too. At least the height difference between them here was more balanced out. “My face is not a stress ball, Al.” At this, he let out a barking laugh.

“Darling, I don't even know what that is!” So, maybe he really _had_ hailed from a past era? When _had_ he wound up in Hell, then...and _**why?**_ A faint shudder; Charlie decided she **really** didn't need to know that here and now. To divert her mind off from the subject, she chose to respond to his prior inquiry – when he'd first regarded her. “Okay...well, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to...to stare.” He seemed to perk up slightly. “I didn't realize...you weren't asleep.” 

A chuckle, as he leaned down closer, from his sitting position. Charlie had to draw back a bit; he was **way** too good at inviting himself up close and personal with her. “Mm, _well_ then...you would have continued to watch me if I were? That's a rather unusual habit, for such a _charming_ mademoiselle.” 

The language he used, and the way it rolled off of his tongue, was enough to fluster her. But the implications he hinted at through his tone, were what caused the tick in her temple, and her retort. “N-No! I was just – I wanted to make sure you were alright!” 

Shaking his head as he pulled away slowly, Alastor proceeded to stretch where he sat. Charlie couldn't help but marvel at his long, lean arms, as they lifted up straight above his head. “Ah...Charlie-belle, I already told you, there's absolutely no need to fret. It'll be gone in no time, lickety-split! Ha ha!” Returning his focus directly to her once more, he was greeted by a stare, mixed between concern, and distrust. “Hm? What is it?”

Charlie pointed at the wound. “Then why hasn't it fixed itself yet, like the others? It's still bleeding.” Looking down at his side, Alastor began to tsk. 

“My apologies, dear. I suppose I'll have to find something to take care of that... **pesky** problem, for the time being. Like I stated before, it **will** heal. It just might take a bit longer, is all.” He seemed completely unfazed by the whole thing, but even if he were a demon, Charlie wasn't stupid. That injury had at least shook him up physically in its impact, if not through its pain. Watching him silently fuss about with his coat, attempting to stretch it over as a cover, she took in a deep breath, and braced herself for whatever came next.

“Al...let me help you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oog...no long Notes this time either, y'all. Mostly because I'm not feeling so hot. I've just been feeling REALLY drained all the time, & all I can do is sleep. I apologize for coming across as a downer. 😅
> 
> As always, feedback is **welcomed, encouraged, & appreciated.** Your support means the absolute WORLD to me. Until next time, take care, & be safe. And, as our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_ ❤️😈❤️


	12. And When You Awaken, The New Day Will Hurt A Little Less

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Among the backdrop of a corpse party, haunting lullabies and gun smoke linger upon the air. A solemn, awkward note to end on, shared between two opposites who may have more in common than they realize. The effects upon both of them are quite startling...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CBeJN7gAsKM/

It was almost as if all the air had been sucked right out of the room by some unseen force. Charlie could feel the tension pulling at her face, the stiffening in her limbs where she still sat upon the floor. Her mouth was suddenly so very dry, and her throat was tight. Her heart was beginning to pound once more against her chest, and the lone thought that kept repeating itself like an SOS, was _Did I do something **really** wrong here...?_

If Charlie thought that she was uncomfortable however, then it was all too obvious Alastor wasn't faring any better. Though that smile of his remained fixed in place, it was oddly tilted, a bit sharper on one side. There also seemed to be a twitch to his right eye, just behind the monocle. His posture was straight as always, but now it appeared almost painfully rigid. Charlie could only begin to imagine the thoughts running through his head at that moment.

“I believe we're done here.” Alastor's response was close enough to what Charlie would've expected: very curt and clipped. Abruptly standing up, he was about to turn on his heel and march right out of the room, to...well, where would he go? He really didn't know his way around most of the place, and for a dramatic exit from an awkward situation to be successful, one needed to know where they were headed! He couldn't just, say, walk into the kitchen and then back out again! 

Charlie wasn't ready to let him go just yet, however. He'd gotten his way on quite a few other things this evening, but not this one. No matter how uncomfortable for both of them, she wasn't letting him off that easily. Not when he was still bleeding where he stood. 

Taking a step to his right – in the direction of that damn kitchen, _wonderful_ choice! - Charlie decided to do something drastic. It would get his attention, if only for a moment, but in the worst way possible. However, from there, if she could string her words together properly...she **might** just have a shot at getting him to agree. Maybe.

So, without allowing her thoughts to mentally talk her out of this, Charlie stood up, reached out, and grabbed Alastor's left arm. The effect was immediate.

“Charlie... **let go.** ” His tone was polite, but decidedly icier than normal. He wasn't looking at her, and she was willing to bet the stare he bore right now, was something she wouldn't be able to match wits with so easily. The static rising around them was bitingly scratchy, practically stabbing through her eardrums. She could feel the flinch coming on, the wincing internal cringe – but she refused to back down. Keeping her hand right where it was, she instead replied, hoping that her offer would be enough to get through to him, if only for a couple of minutes.

“Will you at least hear me out first then, Al? I don't think that's asking too much.” She'd gotten _way_ too comfortable with that nickname already. That was neither here nor there, however. In mounting trepidation, Charlie braced herself, for whatever his answer might be. 

He could say yes. That would be best. He could also say no. That wouldn't be good, and Charlie wasn't exactly sure where to go from there; whether she'd risk keeping him in her hold any further beyond that.

Or, he could throw her halfway across the room and into a wall, ripping her arm off in the process. _That_ was entirely a possibility, too.

Incredibly, he refrained from any sort of verbal or physical retort. Although feeling her tiny hand wrapped around his arm stung like a thousand poison needles, she had offered him an out. And, it wasn't as though he didn't like conversing with her. The matter would be resolved quickly anyways, once she'd finished her spiel. He'd shut her down, courteous yet firm, and that would be the end of that. He could afford to humor her for now. 

So, turning his gaze towards her with a jerk of his head over his shoulder, Alastor gave his acknowledgment that he was ready to listen. Sighing softly, Charlie gently allowed her hand to drop from his arm. The lingering emptiness that remained was somewhere between a mix of relieving and chilling, as the white noise evened out. Alastor wasn't entirely certain how to process that, but at least the touching was done. 

“I know...that you don't like physical contact.” Well. This was certainly not where he'd expected Charlie to start from. Quirking an eyebrow in questioning, his offered silence was all the indication she received from him to continue on. “When – When you carried me, from upstairs, and I...put my arms around your neck. That's when I kinda became aware. You're okay...with reaching out to others. But uninitiated touches – unguided by you, that's...what you don't appreciate.” 

A slow swallow then; his blank, rigid expression and stilted smile were the only things staring back at her. “I don't exactly...understand it, but I won't force you to explain it, either.”

Hmm. So, she'd figured out his particular 'limits' then? Good on her. Charlie was certainly keen, for someone so fresh-faced and starry-eyed. Perhaps it was that seemingly endless 'compassion' that she carried with her, that made her more perceptive? Alastor supposed that in this case, while her attentions were misguided, he could at least appreciate its application here. However, he could just as easily read others like a book, and it had nothing to do with having a heart. 

Once more, he made the motion to step away. “Then, if you understand, I shall - ” Charlie wasn't finished just yet, though. 

“ **But.** ” Oh, that pesky word. When added in situations such as these, Alastor already knew he wouldn't take any pleasure in the conclusion. “I _also_ know, that for whatever reason, this injury is not the same as the others. This is an actual affliction to you, and needs to be taken care of, somehow.” At this, Alastor let out a bitter laugh. 

“And how, pray tell, would you go about resolving this issue then, _Charlie?_ ” The fact that he wasn't using one of his many pet names for her gave an all too obvious answer as to what his feelings were here. “With your silly little mortal prescriptions and dressings?” 

No matter how cold and mocking he might've been, Charlie pushed on. She refused to lose her nerve after coming this far!

Dropping her eyes down to the gash in his side, which he was doing a poor job of concealing, she returned her gaze back upwards, to lock with his own. Intimidating as it was, Charlie wouldn't rest until she could come to some sort of agreement with him. “Medicine, no. I'm not stupid, Alastor.” He held back a scoff, and Charlie caught this. Feeling her chest swell in indignation at his stubborn brush-offs, she barreled on. “I'm not going to let you keep bleeding all over my manor, though.” Just as she'd thought – his scarlet stare darted down, to the gleaming puddle pooling on the floor by his foot. Curses!

“Please, Al. I want to help you. I can find a way that works.” Why wouldn't she just let this go? The demon was just about ready to withdraw his prior invitation of explanation. But for whatever reason, the words wouldn't come out quite so smoothly. And it wasn't a matter of him wanting to be nice, either. Seeing Charlie, this enigma of both a human and demon, challenging him in a manner that was both passionately heated and earnestly pleading. Usually, anyone who offered him these things would be treated to deaf ears. 

Did he...honestly want to see how far she'd push the issue, before giving up? Or...was he waiting for her to slip up in a way where he could properly show her where their 'Master and Servant' relationship ended? Alastor couldn't tell, and it was this indecision that kept him muted. 

Letting out a soft sigh, Charlie was now looking off towards the direction of the guest bathroom. “I can't offer much, but...I can at least apply a bandage, that'll absorb most of the blood, while you just...” She motioned with her hand in the air, looping about. “...do whatever you do, to heal this kinda stuff.” 

Turning back to him, her expression was still determined, warm with genuine caring. “But I'm not just gonna stand by and watch you suffer. You don't wanna acknowledge that it hurts? Fine then, don't. Just please...don't act like you're alone in this.” Now his head was starting to tilt. What, exactly, was Charlie getting at here? 

“You saved my life. Twice. The second time, it was at far greater cost to you, and you knew this. Don't take me for a fool, Al.” Of course not! The rebuttal sprung to his mind instantaneously, followed immediately by the questions. Certainly, he didn't think her a complete imbecile, but...why was he so quick to defend her, either? “Even if I didn't, and still don't, appreciate what happened between you and Vaggie...”

Charlie's shoulders were slumping slightly, but her focus never wavered. “...you tried to make it right. And that, I can acknowledge. So, please...let me make it up to you.” 

Alastor felt as though he were going numb, in a way. He'd had his own personal reasons for jumping into the line of his own fire to protect the heiress. He knew them, she didn't. However, she wasn't blind to the fact that he was a killer. While roaming the Earth or traversing Hell's landscape, this fact had never changed. She'd seen his abilities first hand, seen what he'd been about to do to her dear Miss Vaggie. And still...

...she saw something more in him, something he couldn't find for himself. And it was absolutely maddening, the how and why of it.

“Like I said, I know you're iffy on contact. So, why don't we set up a few bases to cover?” Gradually, without even noticing it, Alastor had begun turning slowly, until he was directly facing Charlie once more. His pose and general aura, however, were nowhere near as frightening as they'd been a mere couple of minutes prior. The blonde had become aware of this as well, and it was quite encouraging. Her face had brightened some, a faint pink hue to her soft cheeks, and a hopeful twinkle in her deeply shaded irises. 

Alastor, oddly enough, didn't feel nearly as tense, standing over her now, watching how her sweet enthusiasm to his current 'plight' played out through her gestures and speech. “Umm, first off, no excessive touching or – or 'funny business'! I won't handle anything but the wound itself!” A sheepish chuckle then. Why was her face suddenly hot? “And, while doing that, I'll be absolutely, extremely careful! So I don't wind up making you feel worse!” 

Biting at her lower lip unconsciously and furrowing her brow, Charlie was wracking her brain for anything else she could offer up to this arrangement. Unbeknownst to her, Alastor's crimson irises and pupils had immediately lowered, watching her small white teeth pulling at those petite, slightly tinted lips. Shaped like perfect petals, colored with a soft, natural shade of rouge. It seemed as though most of the makeup she'd had on before, a more stock shade of red, was just about faded at this point. The demon had no idea why his chest was tightening so, at this mere innocent action. 

“Ah! Got it!” Her sudden cheerful chirp actually made Alastor's shoulders twitch a little. Watching her as though broken from a trance, Charlie was regarding him with what he could safely say, was the widest smile he'd seen from her all of tonight. The light in her eyes, as though she'd just watched shooting stars zoom across the sky...and their twinkle had lingered behind. “When I attach the bandage in place, I'll put it over your clothes! So you don't have to worry about removing anything, either!”

A few moments of silence then. Slowly, the smile on Charlie's lips began to lessen. “Uhh...” She could see the way that the Radio Demon was currently regarding her...and she wasn't certain how to feel. Her pulse was skipping, her face was burning, but the anxiety was rising inside steadily. Was...this the part where he finally shut her down, brutally? “...how...how does that sound...?” Her voice had trailed off into a near-inaudible whisper.

Before she could react, a familiar clawed hand had reached out, clutching at her cheeks like it were the most natural thing in the world. Letting out a squeak of surprise, Charlie stared up frantically at Alastor, who had gotten closer in the span of a second and a single move. The expression he stared down at her with, however...was a lot more relaxed than when they'd first started this discussion. Squeezing her face once more, he proceeded to tug at the corners of her mouth, as though attempting to restore the smile she'd borne before.

“ _Charlie-belle..._ ” Oh, the nickname was back! “How **strongly** you pull at me.” Umm...what was that supposed to mean? “So considerate...even to those who do not need nor deserve it.” Deserve? But...he was hurt! Because of her! That made him more than 'deserving' of assistance, in her book! Though, obviously, she couldn't say this, seeing the situation her face was in. “Certainly, yes. I do not seek unsolicited physical contact, and my wounds are my own...”

He let her go then, and promptly sat back down on the couch. Tilting his head upwards just so at her still standing figure, he offered her a smirk. His heavily shadowed stare pierced her through his thich red bangs. “...though, you have made quite the compelling argument and offer. So, I will allow you your particular request, if only this once.” A wink then, that almost caused Charlie to bite through the inside of her lower lip. “Besides...who can say no to a gal dressed in such a _stunning_ smile?”

Okay – there was **no way** he didn't know what he was saying! Spinning around on her heel, hoping that the tomato-colored pigmentation to her cheeks hadn't been visible long enough for him to pick up on, Charlie was frantically screaming at herself mentally, to _get a **fucking** grip! He's just teasing you! It's all part of his persona! Hurry up and do what you said you were gonna, before he changes his mind!_ Chuckling stiffly, like a robotic that was skipping, she made her way out of the living room, towards the lavatory.

“Y-You got it, Al! Just s-sit tight, and I'll – I'll take care of it! Don't worry, you're – you're in good hands!” As taut as her motions were, Charlie managed not to trip up over any of the debris, or the lone scattered corpse. A few steps away, she rounded the corner to where the entrance was. Her fingers wrapped over the doorknob, yanking it open while out of sight from the couch...

..and then, that playful tone jingled into her hearing once more. “Oh, I'm certain I am~” Charlie nearly slammed the door shut on her other hand. 

Thankfully enough, there was a decently supplied first-aid kit in the cabinet above the sink. Charlie had done her best not to let her eyes linger too long on the various bloodstains smudged here and there – there had definitely been trails on that doorknob she'd been so desperate to turn shortly before. On the counter and walls, she could make out far more distinct handprints. 

Remembering that Vaggie had been the one to come forth from here after the first round of chaos outside had finally settled, Charlie forced her focus to remain on her current task at hand. Although the outcome had been spectacularly unexpected, the main thing was that Vaggie was... **safe**. Dead, but still remaining, somehow. As selfish as that may've been for her to admit, Charlie was grateful for this.

A few minutes later, she found herself standing back in front of Alastor once again. Carefully setting the case on the armrest to her left, she took in a deep breath, preparing herself for what lay ahead. The whole time, Alastor's amused stare hadn't changed, neither had it left her flustered form, though she was trying – and failing, _so hard_ , at hiding it. Whatever had switched his choice to indulging her desire, she wasn't sure. But she'd take it. Even if it meant that she were absolutely an exposed target for his goading.

“Okay...Al. Umm.” Where to start here? “Since the wound is on your left...I think it'd be best, if you sat with your head to the right. So, it'll be easier for me to reach it. I won't have to...lean over you, or anything like that.” Charlie's heart fluttered at his little nod, as he proceeded to scoot himself over to the farther end, stretching his long, lean form out across the couch in the opposite direction. Picking up the kit once more, Charlie knelt down upon the floor beside him. 

Sitting up as best she could, to see what she was working with, she bit her lip. She'd probably have to clean it up a little, at least around the edges, before applying anything. So the pads, gauze, and tape would stick better. She just needed to make sure...that Alastor would be okay with this part, as well. It would be far too easy, if she were shaking, for her touch to slip up and cause some other unnecessary discomfort. She had promised not to tamper with anything but the gash, after all.

Lying down with one arm hanging over the edge, while the other lay bent slightly with hand atop his stomach, Alastor quietly surveyed his impromptu nurse, deep in concentration as she opened up the little kit to sift through its contents. She was treating this whole affair so seriously, and he had to admit, if only to himself, just a tad...

...it was rather diverting, to have somebody tending to him in such a way. He hadn't had anyone offer this level of attention to him in so very long – more importantly, he hadn't required such for what felt like an eternity, at this point. No matter what sorts of scuffles or tumbles he'd gotten into, both alive and dead, he'd always remained a one-man operation. Certainly, his aversion to physical contact contributed to that, too.

He couldn't explain it, though...to see someone so contrary to he himself, insisting on being a part of his existence in a way that was so unfamiliar, and almost unwarranted. Charlie knew full well what he could do, and was in awe of these abilities, as it should be. On the other side of things, however...

She also treated him with a strange sense of humanity, even while knowing exactly what he was, and where his hands had been, so many times before. To have even just a single being viewing him through such a dichotomy...it brought on a rush of feelings, that Alastor hadn't experienced in so long. In fact, he might've never actually felt them in his lives at all. It was _**exhilarating**_ , to be sure. 

But yet, it was still so **new**...an abyss he was staring straight down into, not entirely certain what to expect looking back up at him. Even as a cursed abomination...he wasn't immune to a surprise here and there. And Miss Charlie Magne was just chock full of those, he'd come to realize, over the course of this one night. 

His grin tugged upwards, just a hint wider. Oh, _yes_. His new role was going to be _most **entertaining**_ , indeed.

“Al...I'm gonna try tidying this up a bit first, okay?” Her soft tones brought him back to the moment. Glancing down, he saw that she had a wad of cotton between her tiny, slender digits. She was looking up at him, hesitant but hopeful. “I might be a little jittery, but...I'll do my best not to overstep the arranged boundaries. I just have to get rid of some of the excess, before I can properly apply the dressings. Is...is that alright with you?”

So polite and sweetly imploring. Like a baby dove dipped in sugar water. What a bizarre comparison. Nevertheless, Alastor offered her another short nod. “As you wish, my darling.” Oh, the bright red that shot into her already rosy cheeks – what a treat to see so up-close! Alastor had to inwardly restrain himself from reaching out, and pinching them yet again. Offering out a hurried mumble, Charlie brought the cotton puff over his side...and carefully, tenderly, at a languid pace, began dabbing at the accumulated blood along the wound.

Yes, there was some pain. Alastor wouldn't deny that. But, it was obvious that Charlie was doing her absolute darnedest not to trigger any adverse reactions. For that, he could hold back any sort of tremor or discomfort. Besides, he was a killer turned demonic killer. He could handle this much, surely.

As the treatment continued on in silence, Alastor could feel his eyelids slowly start to droop. He had to admit, aside from the occasional twinge...it was relatively relaxing, being attended to under Charlie's delicate touch and guided motions. Her prior shakes had ebbed away, and she now seemed quite comfortable in her actions. Watching her as she worked so diligently for a few more seconds, Alastor at last allowed his eyes to close fully, head slightly leaning to his left. His lips were parted, but the smile remained on his face, if a little more lazy than usual.

Really, he wasn't one for sleep. Why sleep when there was so much more that could be accomplished? Demons, in all actuality, didn't really require sleep; it became more of a personal choosing to engage in. Most simply allowed themselves to indulge in the habit of weaklings. What was the saying, “I'll sleep when I'm dead”? Alastor considered himself the absolute antithesis to that statement. He'd never been so productive as when he'd been banished to the fiery underworld.

For now, though, just this once, if but for a mere moment...he'd offer himself this fleeting respite. 

As she continued wiping up the additional bloodstains and trails from around and atop his injury, Charlie took note, that it finally seemed to be lessening in its flow. Letting out a quiet sigh under her breath in relief, she lifted her head, to regard the male creature before her -

 _Is...is he **actually** asleep this time?_ Alastor's breathing was slow, and those little tufts atop his head seemed to have lowered, as though like ears. Was that what they were supposed to be? For a second, Charlie's imagination toyed with the thought of, if touched, would they stand back up straight as before? Of course, she wasn't about to attempt such a foolish endeavor. She'd managed to reach this level of contact and acceptance between them; she was certainly not going to betray Alastor's trust just on a whim.

She had to admit, though...the silence was beginning to get to her. She appreciated the lack of conflict upon the air, it was true. But now, simply surrounded by the stillness of death and exhaustion...it was disquieting. Charlie couldn't really place why. Idly, her thoughts drifted back, to the time when she and Alastor had shared their chance song and dance upstairs. 

That tickling tug at the corner of her lips, remembering the impulsive enthusiasm she'd bore, as he'd serenaded her and twirled her about the room. He'd come up with that number on the spot – for such a creature, he was certainly creative.

 _Music, huh...?_ Charlie wasn't about to yank him up from where he sat and force him into her own dance. But, the familiar words were already falling from her lips, a gentle melody upon the empty air.

_Oh, my beloved, my delight  
The allure of the tempting night  
Wrap me in your deepest embrace,  
Conceal me from all others' sight._

Instantly, Alastor felt his ears perk up. That _**voice**_...whose voice **was** that??

_Under naught but moon and stars,  
We'll dance across the violet skies.  
You'll bathe me in your shadows' love  
I offer you my soul, so prized._

As his eyes slowly began to open, the demon realized...that the song was certainly unlike any he'd heard before. There was no radio around – no, the sound was coming from directly beside him...being murmured from under the lowered head of the maiden who continued to care for him with the caress of a medic bearing silken hands. 

_Do not worry, please do not weep,  
The heavens eternal, though out of reach.  
Even if angels disown my face,  
The evening glow will never displace._

Alastor's eyes were wide open now, gazing upon Charlie as though just seeing her for the first time. She was _singing_. Not only was she a mystery with burning spirit, who could keep up with his steps on the floor...

...but she was a little songbird, as well. This tune...it was a pleading, gentle lullaby. Somehow sultry and comforting, all in one. He'd never heard anything like it before. Where on Earth could she have possibly learned it from?

By now, Charlie had fully lost herself in the moment, memories flooding back to her mind's eye. A time when things had been so much more simpler; when she'd still had at least some sort of interaction and importance in her parents' lives, beyond merely a future heir to the figurative throne. With a clear ring of melancholy adore, she entered the last two bridges, the smile upon her lips bittersweet with nostalgia.

_So come to me, my dearest adored,  
And we'll dance upon the midnight's cape.  
Worldly weary, but never fearing,  
The ending day is our escape._

The Radio Demon was now starting to rise, ever so hesitantly, so as not to risk startling his Master from her performance. He wanted, no – _**needed**_ to know how this poignant melody ended. He barely dared breathe, hanging on the blonde's every word and syllable. This _song_ , her _voice_... _ **why**_ did it elicit such a reaction in him? It almost... _reminded_ him, of something, so long ago...

_From tethers and duty below  
The twilight hues are our rainbow.  
It's with this wish, I beseech,  
To waltz with you close, in final sleep._

With that last note lingering on the air, Charlie let out a breath she hadn't been aware of in her chest. Shaking her head gently, she lifted her gaze -

The exhale she'd just released was practically being forced right back in, suffocating both her and the shriek that had threatened to come tumbling forth. There, regarding her as though she were from another universe entirely...was Alastor. He was leaning down, face so close to hers that she was amazed she hadn't accidentally knocked him in the chin. His scarlet eyes were vivid, not just with their color, but something else she couldn't quite place. Her actions had immediately halted, and for a few seconds neither party moved an inch, not even daring to blink.

That look in his eyes, to his features...was it one that she'd ever had aimed at her? Was it one that he should've been capable of, being what he was? And, lastly...

...was it one that _should've_ been aimed at her, by someone like _him?_ This was seeming to become a familiar question on her mind, in regards to this man.

“You were singing.” Well, yes. She was. Singing was something near and dear to Charlie's heart, and in the overwhelming, choking emptiness, it had come forth by force of habit. A calming measure, to soothe her fractured soul and thoughts. Alastor carried on, voice holding a slight hint of...awe? “Tell me, dear Charlie-belle...whatever was that song?”

Oh...so, he wanted to know where it had come from. Straightening her posture, though decidedly a bit further from Alastor's face, still so near and fixated, she offered her reply. “It's...from my Mother. She used to...to sing it to me, when I was a child. I didn't understand what all the lyrics meant, but her voice was so beautiful, it didn't matter.” 

Now Charlie was starting to feel a little shy, sharing something so...personal, with someone she'd only known for a night. Let alone somebody who wasn't even human. But, he'd asked, respectfully, and it would be rude not to answer. Besides, it wasn't like her Mother was human, either. She'd already gotten this far, so why not? It was odd, though – for as timid as she felt now, being so open...it was also intriguing, at least to her, how she was able to connect so quickly with someone so different from the norm. 

“She'd lie down beside me in bed, with her arms wrapped around...it was always so peaceful, just sharing that time with her. To see that side of her – so unguarded and...well, motherly. Not that she wasn't a good Mother!” Charlie added on quickly, realizing how that could sound. “I mean...I was just used to seeing her as she was when she was busy or working. Those moments...they were special to me.”

Alastor was studying the young woman before him, mulling over the information she'd just offered him. It seemed as though, while both parties were thoroughly devoted to their personal affairs...Lilith had at least bore a soft spot for her lone daughter. He could only imagine what the fearsome Queen of Hell itself sounded like in those nights, serenading her child. Most likely, that was where she'd gotten those golden pipes of hers from. Whatever had triggered her sudden concert before him, he didn't know.

But, Alastor certainly wasn't complaining.

“You should sing more often, sweetheart. You've got a voice to rival the angels.” Charlie's heart skipped so hard at hearing that, that it almost took her right along with it. She knew the flush to her features – curse her inability to control her reactions! - was painfully clear, given the low chuckling that greeted her in response. 

Charlie took note, however...that not a scratch of static had entered the air since they'd started this process. It seemed to come and go in waves; its intensity was most prominent when he was excited, usually in a negative manner. Such as, in the middle of battle, or when he was particularly stressed. Pondering this for a moment, Charlie had to wonder if the quiet meant that he was feeling more settled and amicable. Another jolt of her heart, though this one was less extreme.

Returning her attention to the now properly cleaned wound, Charlie placed the cotton upon the floor. Giving Alastor a nod of acknowledgement, she motioned towards the kit once more. “We...we should finish this. I don't want to – to hold you up too long.” In response, Alastor leaned back into the cushions, as Charlie began her work anew.

That eerily mellow melody remained in his head throughout the rest of the process, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...
> 
> ... ** _WOW._** Where do I _begin??_
> 
> First off: **I AM SO SORRY!!** I know, I know - it's been FOREVER since I last updated! I broke my promise of not delaying updates, & for that, I apologize. 😭😭😭💔 It wasn't for lack of Chapters saved up, I can assure you of that much. Just...
> 
> Recently, my physical & mental health have kinda...taken a turn for the worse. I lost motivation to do damn near ANYTHING, including continuing to write further Chapters for this fic, & keep posting. It's not Writer's Block; my issues just kinda...reared up, & overwhelmed me. I was in a REALLY dark place for a while, & am **still** struggling to crawl back out of it. I picked up some unhealthy coping skills, I admit, & almost didn't make it to my recent B-Day, eheh. 😂😅 Yeah...it got **pretty** bad.
> 
> However. I'm still alive, & I haven't forgotten this story, or where I want it to go. I FINALLY finished writing the future Chapter I was working on from the last update, about two MONTHS ago? This means, that I was FINALLY able to post this Chapter, which I was _really_ looking forward to, for the _longest_ time. 
> 
> Along with some further development/bonding moments between Charlie & Alastor - which I pray are still passable in quality - we also have, yet again, custom song lyrics, courtesy of yours truly. ☺️💓 How do they fit? 
> 
> I REALLY wanted to have a sequence where Charlie got to take the 'stage', as it were, & show off her impressive pipes as well, though the melody in question is obviously softer than Alastor's tune. I suppose it would bear a simple, straightforward title, like 'Lilith's Lullaby'. I tried to keep her character & themes in mind; she IS Charlie's Mother, but she's ALSO the wife of Lucifer, & the head of the Succubi race. So, I did my best to arrange the lyrics to suit all of those themes. Hopefully, my efforts paid off. 
> 
> Okay, then. From here on out...I can't promise that updates are going to be as consistent as they were before. The best way I can set it for, is this: for each new Chapter I complete, I can update. So, if I can manage to write one new one every week, then updates will go back to normal. If not...then, they'll be the Saturday following whenever that new Chapter is finished. It's not ideal, but...it's better than nothing, hopefully. 
> 
> Again, I'm **SO SORRY** for the lack of activity, & being so late in responding to all of my messages, as well! You've all been so very kind & supportive to me, & I REALLY don't wanna let you guys down. Just...please, be patient, as I try to pull myself back together again? 😅😅😅
> 
> Until next time, take care, & be safe. And, as our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	13. No One Knows What It's Like, To Be The Bad Man...Except He Himself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As the night's events finally wind to a close, so too do the thoughts of Charlie and Alastor. Though, their intentions are completely opposing...hopefully, rest will come easy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖**
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CBeJN7gAsKM/

The rest of the patch job went by in a comfortable lull. Charlie put on no other performances, but Alastor seemed content to simply lie there, and allow her to finish her task. It took at least three woven pads over the bloody hole to provide any sort of decent coverage or absorption, and once that was arranged, Charlie had required him to hold them in place, as she'd applied the finishing touches. Wound gauze, and medical tape helped to keep it all together.

True to her word, nothing had gone beneath his clothes. It basically used up the entire roll, but Charlie had wound the fabric fully around his abdomen, over both his shirt and coat. Sealing it at various parts with the strips of adhesive, after a bit of struggle, it was done. Surveying her handiwork, Charlie could admit, that while not the neatest job, it would at least serve its purpose for the night. Though, it was rather odd, to see the stretched splotch of white upon his near entirely crimson exterior.

Once she'd tucked the kit back into the cabinet, and returned to the living room, the quiet that hung in the air was of a decidedly taut nature. Alastor was still on the couch, though sitting up now as opposed to lying down. Charlie stood before him, hands clasped behind her as her eyes darted about the room, to land on various things. Most of it was whatever had been left behind thanks to death and destruction, so she didn't stay focused for very long.

Eventually, the silence broke. “So...” When the male looked up towards her, head tufts seeming to perk with the sound – seriously, were they ears or not?? - Charlie felt her throat tighten, realizing she really had no clue what to say here. The manor was still a godawful mess, but Vaggie was asleep, and Alastor was injured. He needed to rest, too. As much as Charlie didn't want to acknowledge it...the clean-up would have to wait, until everyone had gotten some shut-eye, and recuperated for a while. 

It was unsettling to think about: sleeping in a house full of blood and corpses. At this point though, they – or at least she and Vaggie, Alastor probably didn't care – couldn't really fuss. There was simply no way to get through the extensive work it would entail, not at this hour. Which was quite late, once Charlie had gotten a chance to look at the time, with all of them as they currently were. 

Pointing towards the stairs, as much as her legs ached and trembled, Charlie prepared to make her exit. “I guess...I'll be going now, to – umm, get some sleep myself.” Looking at Alastor seated upon the couch, she did admit, her heart felt a little pang of guilt. “Are...Are you gonna be okay, down here?” It was on the tip of her tongue, to offer him another guest room, like she'd done so with Vaggie. The words were ready to come out, and it must've been visible as such, because before she could add on, Alastor raised his hand to stop her.

“Charlie-belle.” His voice had just the first faint hint of wear. “You do not need to fret so. I am perfectly fine here.” A soft chuckle then, as he regarded her with a wry smile. “I have no real use for a bed, to be perfectly honest.” She had no idea how to interpret that; was he used to sleeping on couches or chairs - maybe even floors? That didn't sound very comfortable, but if it was his wish...she wouldn't press the issue.

Taking a few small steps towards the staircase, she offered him a nod and a last glance back over her shoulder. He had turned his head to follow her, and she still couldn't help but shudder inwardly, at how far it could twist. “Alright, then...well, I'll be seeing you. Umm, i-if you need anything - ”

Again, he cut her off. “I will not. So do not trouble yourself any further.” His eyelids lowered, shadows cast across his features oddly both weary...and sly. “Goodnight, _Master.”_

And there went the extreme surge of heat, straight to her cheeks. Holding back a scream, Charlie instead channeled her frustration into her march up the steps. She did offer one last parting shot as she disappeared, however: “ **Please** stop calling me that! I'm _**nobody's**_ Master!” Here's hoping that she could find her room this time around with no difficulty. She wasn't being chased and running for her life, so that would help greatly in her search. 

Charlie was too far up by then to catch the low rumble of a chuckle that passed Alastor's lips. When he was certain she was gone, he carefully lay back down upon the cushions, in the same position he'd been in when Charlie had been tending to his wound. The lighting here was still uneven, but at least there'd been just enough to manage the care. It did help some that his eyes tended to bear a luminance all their own, as well.

She hadn't needed to worry as to his comfort, really. It wasn't as though being among a scene like this one was anything so unfamiliar or disturbing. Nay, he'd had many a night where, as a human, he'd been forced to succumb to natural exhaustion, still coated with the blood and inner workings of a particularly successful kill...

...or three, as the savory stench of death and agony permeated the air. Such a _lovely_ spectacle to end on.

The grin on his face stretched wider, as he allowed his thoughts to gradually filter forth. What an astoundingly unusual and exciting night this had been! Truly, he hadn't had this sort of experience in quite some time! Being a prisoner for so long tended to put the damper on such affairs. Though, it wasn't a lie to admit, he'd already begun growing bored of his daily routine in Hell before that. 

It was always the same thing: murder, murder, murder, his victims acting tough before begging him for mercy. After awhile, it was tiring to listen to. And with his targets, no matter if they were general Hell-dwellers or smarmy Overlords...the outcome was the same. It wasn't that he wanted to stop killing entirely; goodness no! No, no, no...it was more along the lines of, that he needed more than just a straight shot to murder, in order to keep himself amused. A full-course meal, as opposed to just a quick snack snatched off the shelf or counter.

Boredom...was _not_ something he, of all beings, would tolerate. So, to have a night such as this thrown his way, after so long? Oh, _**yes.**_ An opportunity like this was once in a lifetime, and seeing as his existence below had been his second, he wasn't going to waste one second of it. So many **possibilities** and _potential_ thrown his way!

All thanks to her. That little blonde songbird who'd just trooped up the stairs like a petulant child, unable to handle his lighthearted, charming heckling. Charlie Magne. Lucifer's Daughter.

That prior title, while offered in jest, wasn't entirely untrue. After what she'd granted to him this evening, and the contract they'd made...she was the closest thing to a Master he'd ever had, in his eyes. He had faithfully carried out the tasks required of him, while even halting altogether in others, simply by virtue of her presence and command. Why, she'd gotten him, without any sort of planning, to take it upon himself and shield her from his own shot, during that last dust-up! 

No matter if he still had his own motives for doing so...the fact that someone could cause such a reaction in one such as he, was **not** something to regard lightly. This young woman was full of surprises.

Alastor allowed his eyes to drift over the darkened high ceiling lazily, not really focusing on any point, as his thoughts continued to wander and unravel. She was definitely Lucifer and Lilith's Daughter, but while she may've born with their heritage...she was distinctly human, above all else. If his theory was correct, then she'd have to be, in order for them to have kept a position here on Earth for so long. That was how it tied in. He'd gotten Charlie to the conclusion that Lucifer had mainly done it out of his own need for entertainment, and while yes, that was most likely true...

...it most certainly **wasn't** the _only_ reason. Not if he'd gone through all these lengths, whatever they might've been, to slip by right under Heaven's nose, and walk among the humans undiscovered for so long. 

Not only that, but when he'd been facing off against those fleshy time-wasters, fresh out the gate. The last one, their leader – he'd let something interesting slip: that Lucifer had gone missing. Or at least, disappeared in some way that they considered fortuitous. Charlie hadn't mentioned much about it, other than mouthing off at that foul figure when he'd attempted to drag her Father's name through the mud. That same cretin had mentioned also about her Mother vanishing right along with him, at least near the end.

Interesting. _Very **interesting.**_ The gears were turning in Alastor's head, and he was enjoying the ideas and options being created. It would've been impossible for any mere mortal to off the King of Hell and his wife, no matter if they were in human form. Charlie's existence allowed them to stay as such. They'd just have to keep an eye on how long, if they were insistent on not having their covers blown. Having to switch at the wrong time, all for taking out some poor sap or more, who really thought they'd had a chance at knocking out the head honcho? That was a huge risk, and certainly not worth the trouble.

Even up here on Earth, Lucifer liked to live large, and in charge. That alone should've been enough to tip off Heaven, right? Being someone with this massive a scope of influence, dabbling in so many sins beyond, by the creation of this business he'd whipped up. Knowing the Infernal One, he was just as crooked with his connections up here as he was below. Anyone who got involved with him would surely be paying a heavy price for their greed. 

How utterly confounding, though – that Lucifer would have built up this large a presence for himself, and not taken more pains to protect the main base of operations. Or perhaps, this **wasn't** it? The thug had made another mention, of the company being left entirely in Charlie's hands. Why this was the case, Alastor had no idea. But considering the circumstances surrounding the whole affair, he was willing to bet it hadn't been planned. At least, not for Charlie to be dealing with all of this so suddenly. 

But, as for having her be the head of the business, for whatever reason in the future...well, that much made sense. If he planned on staying in the game up here for long, she was the best bet, being both his natural - or unnatural - successor, as well as of his cursed lineage. How sad, though; it seemed as though Charlie's main purpose in all of this was merely as a cover, or a pawn. Even with whatever hoops dear ol' Luci had to jump through in order to secure her creation. Methods that, most likely, were just as unholy as they were illegal, in the eyes of the afterlife.

Really, though. Alastor could feel his fangs begin to dig into his lips, breaking the skin as he nearly salivated with all the possibilities. Whatever Lucifer's plans had been with this scheme, a few things had been made abundantly clear to the Radio Demon in this one night:

First, it was most likely that the Devil and his beloved's disappearance had nothing to do with the human world, nor the realm of light above. If it had been Heaven finally catching on, he would figure that Charlie herself would've been tapped as well, being some sort of abnormal design. Even if Lilith had been the one to carry her – had she? - Charlie. Was. Human. All of her demonic ability was absolutely _buried_ beneath the mortal outer coat.

This lead to point number two: Charlie was a **lot** stronger than a mere vessel. Much more so than this task that Lucifer had assigned her to, unknowing and against her will. Her human form was somehow the perfect housing for this...ultimate power that beckoned and roared, under the surface. Lucifer had unexpectedly, by those unknown means, created something _far_ greater than he'd first thought. The fact that Charlie had been able to do what she had this night, right before his very eyes...

Alastor had been very well versed in magic and rituals, both in life and after death. But this...was something he'd _never_ experienced, on either plane. With just a few drops of her blood, she'd been able to do what Lucifer required multiple steps for. And in another turn of events, she'd brought her friend back from the edge of Hell – fully transformed, but in solid form, to be at her side on Earth yet again.

Now he was licking his fangs, the taste of his own lifeforce seeping into his tongue. Wouldn't that be a hoot when the rest of it all kicked in, too? He wondered if she'd have an answer for that when it finally happened. Most likely not, and oh, but he would be looking forward to that mess when it went down!

Hmm, _fascinating._ Very, _**very**_ fascinating indeed. So deliciously dramatic and tangled. Lucifer, the Fallen One...hiding such a secret from both Heaven and Hell, let alone everybody here on this miserable planet of fools and fodder. How easily swayed they were, by just a few sweet promises and pipe dreams. However, it appeared as though he himself was now in a bind of his own. If Alastor were to allow for further speculation, Hell was the only place where Lucifer could have retreated to. But in such a hurry without a single word otherwise? Just what, exactly, had been going on in the pits since he'd been locked away? Who else was trying to worm their way underneath the Infernal's skin?

At this, Alastor felt his eyes narrow. No, no, _**no.**_ That wouldn't do. Next to Heaven itself, he was the only other who had **ever** been a thorn in his accursed side. He certainly wasn't about to let any other creature take that title from him. He hadn't made all the ruckus he did down below, acquiring power and status so quickly without restraint, just to be tossed away like yesterday's news. No – he was _always_ first, _always_ on top of the latest breaking story. 

Nay; now, _**he**_ was the breaking story. Just like when he'd been alive, holding the bayou in terror. Lucifer wouldn't be able to forget him quite so smoothly. Especially not that he was free once more...

...at the side of his innocent, unsuspecting Daughter.

Ohh, leaving things _so_ vulnerable up here...the King was going to regret it, vehemently _**abhor**_ himself for this mistake. Because, what little he thought he was casting aside, emergency notwithstanding...was everything that Alastor could've asked for, and _more._ The perfect tool of judgment, of executing his greatest coup against another, that either this world or the next would ever know. Lucifer wouldn't even see it coming. 

And, to be perfectly honest...neither would Charlie.

Folding his arms behind his head, Alastor pondered deeply. Charlie Magne. Short for 'Charlotte'. Young, naive, a bleeding heart, and defiant. Flustered quickly, but good at bouncing back from each and every situation thrown her way. A significant weapon, hidden in such an unassuming figure. Someone who could slip under all the radars. Even her own Father's. 

The smirk on his face began to soften, into more of a smile. She was smart, enough so to know how to handle herself if things got tough, or how to make situations turn in her favor. There was no way she could've realized beforehand, but dealmaking was a **big** piece of how Alastor had built up his reputation and body count in the fiery pits. His bargaining and coercion skills were only rivaled by the Devil himself, part of the reason he'd wound up locked away to begin with. He thought it'd have been so simple, to hook the fresh-faced doll into a deal that would work in his favor firmly. 

Instead, though...she'd flipped the script on its head. She'd _refused,_ and instead got _him_ to agree to _her_ contract instead. She had a lot more authority over him now, though he'd be lying if he said he hadn't been willing to offer up that much of himself to her. Her abilities alone, plus the ripe potential she held...and, just the mere fact that he enjoyed her company, immensely. Everything mixed together, promised an astonishingly exquisite cure for his boredom, almost intoxicating in its effect. With what he was set to gain, should this little gamble work out...

...yes, he was _**perfectly fine**_ with this arrangement. He was willing to play Servant for as long as it took for his scheme to come to fruition. And oh, but with Miss Magne by his side...it was just about guaranteed.

However. He wasn't about to count his chickens just yet. It would take time for Charlie to fully fall under his spell; already, that pesky gal-pal of hers was wary to his presence. She'd been intent to have his head for her own upon first returning to the Earth, only backing off when he'd proven that he wasn't a being to be trifled with. That didn't mean she couldn't potentially find another way to cause him problems later down the line...well, depending on how long she was _able_ to stick around for.

Another soft chuckle. The smile on his face hadn't lessened any. What else had charmed him about the little blonde heiress? 

Well, for starters, as he'd mentioned: her habit to abruptly stumble over the slightest bit of teasing or attention. She was like a young maiden, in how she seemed so ill-versed with his masculinity. Had the sweetheart never **actually** had a fellow before? He couldn't see why not, but then again, even as a human himself, relationships had never been his forte. Still weren't. Unless he could obtain something useful from them, and discard them as quickly as he'd established them, then they were not worth his time. Contracts served him much better.

Besides...so many _insisted,_ absolutely _**demanded,**_ to be physical in their desires. He'd never been one for touching. Not since...

... **well.** It had been quite the while.

Adding on: the fact that she was so accommodating to his personal preferences. She'd figured out all on her own, without a single word exchanged between them, that he had no interest in any contact that didn't stem from himself. The only reason he hadn't said anything when it had first happened, was because he could at least understand her intentions for doing so. She'd only meant to secure her position. For that, he'd been willing to hold his tongue. But still, she'd astutely picked up on his irritation, however it had managed to slip out. 

And, not only that, but she remembered it, too. When she'd made her impassioned plea to him, begging to offer her assistance for the wound in his side. She'd gone out of her way to find a method that would work for him, while at the same time showing him a level of consideration that he couldn't really remember experiencing before. Even though she acknowledged his greatness...

...she also saw him as finite, and thus did not wish to see him harmed. Was that it? No matter if he were a demon; he still managed to cause her concern. No matter if he'd injured her Miss Vaggie – she was still willing to offer him kindness and assistance as well. She was perceptive enough to have been able to identify that the gash from the gun hadn't done the same sort of damage that the other bullets had. Hence, further reason for her concern. 

The fact that she could be so gentle yet firm, in front of someone like him – nay, **with** someone like him, _**to**_ someone like him. It lit a rush of feelings and sensations inside that he had absolutely no clue as to the origin of...but wasn't about to disavow completely. After all, there was always a first time for everything, and having been cooped up for so long, restricted in his fun and freedom? He was willing to take a few more chances than usual.

It wasn't like the girl was in any position to pull one over on him. He held all the cards here, being the lone figure who had any idea as to what was happening on the supernatural end. If she wanted her answers, then she had to play the game, too.

Ah yes, _the game._ It certainly was afoot. **Nobody,** not even he himself, had any idea of where it was all to go. He only knew the 'how'; the favorable outcome he imagined, and would do _anything_ and _**everything**_ to achieve. Soon enough, he'd be standing at the top of the pile, all obstacles cleared from his way, by whatever means necessary. Really, the only thing left to wonder...

...was if he'd be alone in seizing the crown.

At long last, Alastor felt content in closing his eyes, allowing his thoughts to taper out into a dull murmur. The static around him was buzzing faintly, as his breathing slowed. However, this time around, sleep was not in the cards. Oddly, that had been the first time, in _so very long_...that he'd truly been the subject of slumber. All under the timid touch of a mademoiselle he had yet to figure out. 

But, give it time. It wouldn't be too long before he had her eating from the palm of his hand...the ultimate betrayal to the one who'd ushered her into this world.

His lips were still curved up into a satisfied grin, golden teeth glimmering dimly in the shadows, as he awaited the arrival of the new dawn. Hopefully by then, the pesky damages he'd unexpectedly accrued would be naught but a fleeting memory of limitations.

**…...**

Charlie was just about ready to be done with the whole world, once she'd finally staggered into her bedroom on the third floor. So, she hadn't even been close in her panicked fleeing earlier in the night. Why her bedroom had to be so far up, she didn't know. Why she'd never questioned the design until now, she also had no idea. Why her parents had decided on such a distance between them also perplexed her, though at the moment, she wasn't going to expend much energy any further on it. All she wanted to do, no matter how in vain it might've been, was to pull herself together.

First up, she nearly tore off the clothes she'd been wearing all throughout the evening's madness. She had so many differing bloodstains upon the material, and after everything that had happened, like heck she really wanted to go through the trouble of attempting to wash it out. Even though the outfit was pretty and well put-together – thank you, Vaggie – it would always bear the horrible memories of this night. Allowing the fabrics to fall to the floor in the corner in a heap, she figured she'd just throw them out once she'd woken up.

As much as her body was absolutely screaming itself raw in protest, Charlie knew: she _needed_ a shower before slipping between the sheets of her bed. She wasn't about to taint them with the trails left behind upon her skin. She just wanted a good, long soak under the running water; to figuratively wash away all of the trauma, the scars, the sounds, the feelings, every last one of the sins she'd committed, or had others commit on her behalf. If only for a little while, she could pretend to be clean.

Gathering a nightshirt and a few other necessities, Charlie made the trip down the semi-darkened hall. Since nobody seemed to have actually made it up this far, the power hadn't been cut off completely. She was able to see where she was going, more clearly than any of the other levels for such a long stretch. Wrapped in nothing but her bathrobe, she was grateful for this. Knowing everything that lay below, with her the lone occupant above...made her feel _so very small_ and exposed.

Once inside the bathroom, Charlie proceeded to start up the water, putting together the soaps and shampoos she wished to use. It was a large and luxurious space which greeted her, and managed to be kept moderately clean, since it was mainly just she and Vaggie who'd been using it. When she was satisfied, she finally discarded her robe, and stepped beneath the rushing warmth.

 _Not hot enough._ That was the first thought which crossed her mind, as the beads and droplets cascaded over her skin. She'd thought it was set properly, but upon actually being beneath the stream, she realized that it wasn't nearly as strong as she'd wanted it to be. Turning up the knob with a sharp yank, Charlie basked in the shudder that enveloped her entire body, from the singeing heat that now crashed down over her. It was as though she were trying to do more than just wash away her troubles or discomfort...

...no, she was attempting to _burn_ them right out of her body, her very _**soul.**_

Relishing the sting and steady reddening of her flesh, Charlie let out a heavy sigh, feeling warmly numb. With a shaky motion, she stepped out from under the direct rush. Reaching for her pouf and bottle of soap, she squeezed out a thick amount and carefully dragged it over her skin. She allowed herself to get lost in the repetition of the motions, and the creamy sweet, floral scent that began to fill the wide stall.

Gradually, the thoughts in her head began to settle and fade out, simply drifting off into the white noise of the forceful water, and the scratching of soapy fabric. Eventually, Charlie had also grabbed a hold of her shampoo, massaging the lather into her long locks with another sigh of relief. Whether or not she deserved this gentle treatment and attention...she'd worry about it later. Right now, she just needed a chance to breathe.

By the time she'd finished her bath, her skin was a raw shade of red, but the initial pain of heat had all but diminished. She felt tender from head to toe, and basked in the twinging softness. Drying off, changing her clothes, and replacing her supplies, she shut out the lights and returned to her room down the hall. Now, _now_ she was ready to welcome the comfort of her bed.

As she slid beneath the cool sheets and full comforter – such a contrast to her figuratively cooked flesh – Charlie closed her eyes, letting her inhales and exhales fall slow and steady. She enjoyed the cushioned, isolated security for a few more moments...before the silence finally began to register.

It was funny, how even quiet had its own distinct signature. Mostly when you were trying to avoid any sort of awkwardness or general thought. That was when, it somehow managed to become the loudest. It must've been some sort of mental phenomenon. 

Did she really deserve to sleep? Truthfully, Charlie didn't think so. But, would her body cooperate with her if she tried to push it any further past its limits, to engage in any other sort of activity? No, that was the answer. As much as she might've been chastising herself, for not having been able to get started on the cleanup downstairs, whatever that would entail, and the proper disposal of all the dead...now was not the time to do it. 

How easy it was for her, to just scrub and drown her aches in a shower. To imagine, those poor people who'd been caught in the middle of the crossfire, being sent to meet their makers far before their time. It had been because of her that this senseless violence had happened, and none of them would be so able to simply wash away their pain in the next life. Because, as she'd seen tonight, there was _**definitely**_ something waiting on the other side. She could only begin to wonder, how many of those terrorists had wound up in Alastor's old stomping grounds – her Father's apparent kingdom. It might've been mean, but after what they'd done tonight...

Well, considering everything that had taken place, plus her newly discovered bloodline, Charlie was absolutely certain that was what awaited her upon her exit from this world, too. Whether it was peaceful, or sad, or even kicking and screaming, there was no mistake: Heaven had no room for a degenerate like her. Even without having said heritage, she'd sent so many to an unfortunate early grave. That alone had stained her hands beyond repair. 

Charlie had always strived to do the right thing, be it for herself or others. She couldn't stand to see anyone suffer, and had tried to use whatever resources she could manage in order to assist. Granted, she hadn't made many friends on her own in high society for that. Neither had she curried any favor with her own Father, for being so “ridiculously, disgustingly generous” as he'd phrased it, on one occasion when she'd tried to give her pocket money – and a good wad of it, too – to an elderly homeless woman in the park on a short walk. They'd taken it together for some fresh air, all three of them, as a family. She'd learned to be more discreet in her gestures since then, but still...she really didn't feel like she'd accomplished much.

Most people would've probably taken her laments with a grain of salt, and some harsh words. Why should she be worrying or complaining? She was young, and rich! Born with a silver spoon in her mouth, as they'd say. What did it matter if anyone else was worse off than she? Her affairs were taken care of. That's all that was important. 

This was a line of thought she just couldn't ascribe to. Even more so now, after the massacre that had unfolded, and learning what she had about her own family. All that success... **hadn't** been natural. Her status came at a high price: true humanity. The blessing of being a mere mortal, untouched by evil or temptation. She'd never have thought of such a thing, let alone it being something to be coveted. But, knowing that she was merely a product of _boredom,_ created by the Devil himself...

...it both crushed her immeasurably, and only served to make her more determined than ever. There **had** to be some way to fix things. To change her supposed destiny. 

She had Alastor on her side now, at least in some manner. Of course, he wouldn't give a thought to any sort of want or desire to 'doing the right thing'. He was a killer, through and through. But...if nothing else, while in pursuit of her foolish goals, she had the backup to keep her head above water. So long as he didn't get bored of her first, that was.

And Vaggie, too! Whatever had happened to bring her back in the form she bore now, among the living and just as much of a demon as the male himself - that had been all her doing, as well. Perhaps, she could find a way to make something out of the tragedy that had befallen all here tonight. Something to fight against the grain...and make sure that this event _**never**_ had a chance to repeat.

Certainly, there were still many things she remained in the dark about. There was much she had to learn, and so much more work that had to be done. But now, Charlie didn't feel quite so hopeless as she had when she'd first hunkered down in her bed. This wasn't the end. Not by a long shot. With whatever, or whoever, she had at her call or by her side, she would bring about something beautiful, from the wreckage of tonight. 

It wouldn't be easy; nothing ever was in this life, no matter your privilege. In her case, she had all the odds against her, like a newborn babe walking headfirst into a windstorm. 

But Charlie was nothing if not resilient. Along with Vaggie's support, and Alastor's abilities, she'd still managed to hold up on her end alone. Even if others would've been quick to label her a failure, even if she still had the consequences of the massacre weighing on her mind...Charlie wasn't going to give up. _**Somehow,**_ she'd make a rainbow blossom from all of this seemingly endless rain.

With that last thought upon her mind, Charlie was finally able to slip away into slumber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **... _WHEW!!_**
> 
> Hi there, everybody! 👋 And welcome back to 'Holy CARP this should've been updated MONTHS ago!!' 😂😂😂😭😭😭 I'm so sorry! My health...is just **all** over the place right now. On certain ends, I'm getting better. But, just when I feel like I've made some sort of progress...BAM! I get hit with something new. It's a tricky struggle, to be sure. 
> 
> HOWEVER, I made up my mind, to finish the latest new Chapter in my master document for this story this week. I saw some lovely feedback at an outside source online, & it lit a fire under my butt, with a mixture of both joy & guilt. Weird combo, but there you go. 😆 
> 
> I don't have a lot to say about this new update; as far as Chapters go, it's pretty chill, in comparison with everything else that's been going on so far. Mostly just a filler, to wrap up the loose ends & draw the curtains on the events of this night. It focuses on both Charlie's perspective, as an unintentionally cursed Princess/target...
> 
> ...& Alastor, who, at least for now, is a _**permanent**_ resident, of both the manor & her life. He isn't going anywhere soon.
> 
> Poor Charlie is going through a _whole_ lotta Survivor's Guilt & grief, while our Radio Demon...ponders & plots for the future. Hm-hm! Although he was able to fill in our dear Belle on her family lineage...it seems as though he _didn't_ exactly tell her everything. Perhaps, he knows more than he's letting on? In regards to his train of thought here, it certainly seems like it. What that spells for the future, though...
> 
> Oh! Before I sign off: I've started doing little Chapter summaries at the top now! I went back & added them to all the previous ones, too. Hopefully, they'll be engaging without giving too much away in advance. 🤞🏻🤞🏻 I'm also thinking of doing little teaser previews of what's to come in the next updates, in these end notes...but IDK. Is that something you'd like to see? 😊
> 
> As always, thank you to everyone who has supported me thus far, in undertaking this strange fanfic journey. You all mean the 🌍 to me, & I can't even _**begin**_ to express how much joy I feel when I hear from you, in whatever way. Feedback is **welcomed, encouraged, & appreciated,** no matter the form. As long as people are having fun with this, then I'm happy. Means I'm doing my job right & well. 😉💕
> 
> Until next time, take care, & stay safe. As our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	14. I Can Dream The Rest Away...Will You Join Me In A Nightmare?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Tell me the reality  
> Is better than the dream.  
> But I've found out the hard way,  
> NOTHING IS WHAT IT SEEMS!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> !!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖
> 
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CBeJN7gAsKM/

Ah, dawn. When the lovely, warming rays of the sun would rise high into the sky, casting their light across the Earth below. Depending on what side faced said heavenly being, they'd be gradually coming to after a night of hopefully peaceful slumber, ready to start the day anew, refreshed and recharged. Most people had places to go, things to do. Whether it was heading to work or school, gearing up to open businesses, run errands, or anything else in between. The daytime hours were a time of cheerful productivity and generally composed conduct.

And then... _then,_ there was the manor at the end of the road, all the way up the hill.

Outside of the large lower-level glass windows, some of which were shattered, the birds had gathered in the trees, to chirp their morning tunes. Out and about on the lawn, a few curious wildlife were sniffing about, wondering as to the random scattered items at various places, such as furniture, or shell casings. The sky had already lightened, from deep lavender to a more sunny cotton-candy mix. At first glance, it could've been passed off as merely a quirky scene, or the remains of a house party gone out of hand...

...until suddenly, without warning, a helmet went flying through one of the already cracked windows, not doing anything to help with its damaged state. Curving upwards, it managed to startle the songbirds before crashing into the bushes. Watching the frightened creatures twitter and flutter away, from inside the house, a dark, familiar shadow was grinning and cackling to itself. It slipped through the window frame, and slithered back to its owner.

“Hm, hm-hm-hm! Hmm...” Wide awake and surveying the scenery with a calculating gaze, was none other than Alastor himself. Granted, he actually hadn't been awoken – he'd simply never gone to sleep. His eyes had been intermittently opened and closed, as the minutes, then hours, had ticked by. All he'd focused on was the slow and steady stitch work beneath the gauze and wrappings. Bathing in the silence and sense of gloom that followed a fresh massacre, he'd allowed himself a chance to relax, yes – but he hadn't fully let down his guard. 

As he'd stated before, sleep was unnecessary for someone like him, and he had better things to do than let himself dream away in vulnerability. Why _dream_ when you could just _**do,**_ anyway? Once the sunbeams had finally started creeping in, he'd decided that it was time to hop back on his feet, and begin the first set of preparations. 

The manor, or at least the first floor, was absolutely trashed. Ignoring the dead bodies, the setting itself would take more than just a few hand waves to fix. Sure, Alastor's trusty double remained by his side, as he wandered about taking notes...but, even if he did split it apart to handle some of the tasks, it wouldn't be nearly enough to fully repair and erase every last trace of the previous night's events.

Usually, Alastor didn't really focus on things like clean-up. As a human, he'd had but one specific area, all to himself, where his macabre business had occurred. It had been easy to keep together, and as for anything that might've wound up happening outside of closed doors... _well._ It just meant that those were the instances where the cops had a few more scraps than usual to pick at. Once he'd arrived in Hell though, it didn't matter where or when he committed his crimes; the entire landscape was his playing field. 

However...what to do when your whole living space was basically a butcher's back room? It wasn't as though he could just...ignore the mess. Even if it didn't bother him, being surrounded by death for extended periods, it was not the same for these silly humans. He knew Charlie, in particular, was saddened every time her eyes roved over any one of these nameless corpses. 

It wasn't so much out of caring; nay, it was merely beneficial to his cause if she were more enthusiastic. So, if ridding the premises of the stiffs and stains would aid in his ultimate end goal, then fine. He'd do something about it. This was a solid way of gaining favor, at least.

Besides...it wasn't like she didn't look good with a smile, anyway. Nobody was ever fully dressed without one. 

In regards to all the bodies: he'd need help in disposing of them. More than mere shadows. He didn't want to use up all of his regained power and strength, just on making them disappear. Even if the wound in his side had just about vanished without a trace, he wasn't about to waste his restored energy on just this one endeavor himself. However...there were **other** ways to solve this mess that, while still using notable reserves, would get the job done in a far more effective manner. 

He'd just have to call in a few favors, but...it wasn't like he hadn't acquired all of his contracts for just that purpose. If they wanted to pay it off, then they were stuck with him, as long as stipulated by the agreement. Oh, how **foolish** and _hasty_ desperation made so many lost souls, both in this life and the next. To those who couldn't afford to pony up: well, it was no skin off his nose. Slice and dice, they were just another name on his ever-growing list, as well as possible food stock for the pantry. For the rest who _**didn't**_ want that to become their fate...

A soft chuckle, as he knelt down, to examine a portly male body, sprawled near the entryway. With a delicate pluck of his clawed fingers, he lifted the man's wrist, swinging it lightly in his grasp and watching the fingers flop about. Well, they'd better have been ready to get their own hands dirty. He wasn't generous, and every deal had a price in the long run. It was just really easy to trick others when showmanship had been a part of your routine for near to a century by this point...and again, they. Were **so. _Desperate._**

Dropping the appendage back on the ground, Alastor stood up once more, heading towards the door to the first side hallway. This was the one he and that _Miss Vaggie_ had gone chasing one another down, where she'd yet to return from after he'd settled upon the couch. Since Charlie hadn't been distraught in any way, it was most likely safe to assume that she had chosen to stay down there. 

Pursing his lips, the smirk on his face did not lessen. Since she was such a... _testy_ pest, he'd just have to wait until after she'd come crawling out, before he could take a proper look down that end. He'd simply busy himself with the other hall instead, the one to the left of the stairs and that small restroom. Where Charlie had procured the medical supplies she'd used on him.

Oddly enough, although his wound was fully healed...it hadn't yet crossed his mind to remove the dressings. They still stood out starkly against his red suit, like a lopsided white sash. Charlie had taken such careful measures to make certain it stayed in place and didn't upset him while serving its purpose. Perhaps it should be she instead, who bore the honor of its removal? Could that be considered such a task? 

Well, to be fair...it _was_ for him. That alone signified its importance. 

With a snap of his fingers, his trusty mic-cane appeared. Twirling it once like a baton, he let it rest against the crook of his now folded arm. The spin had been enough to awaken the specter on the other end. “Oi, Boss! You know they have these newfangled inventions called 'alarm clocks' now, right? Why the rude wake-up call?” A series of boos filtered through, to emphasize the displeasure.

Alastor was stroking his chin in thought, eyelids lowered as the gears continued to turn. He paid no mind to the grumpy ribbing. “Oh hush, you. We've got bigger fish to fry.” The static was steadily beginning to rise, as the sentient prop went silent. Beside him, his shadow darted about, snickering with its ever-present garish grin. “Now, who would be the best faces to haul in...?” Although he had many, _many, **many**_ names at his disposal...Alastor wanted to make sure that his resources were going towards fueling the best pick of the litter. Who would be appropriate for the outlined jobs at hand?

“Hm?” As he was about to open the hall door, knob in his grasp, he suddenly perked up, the tufts on his head twitching, as if in response to something. What...was that? Alastor tilted his head just slightly. Had he...just heard something? Or felt something? 

Raising a hand, the white noise surrounding him began to dim in its fervor. His shadow was stock-still beside him, seeming to have picked up on the same odd note, too. As Alastor slowly turned his head to the right...it happened again. This time, there was no mistaking the reverb in his hearing, or the light twinge in his chest.

Something...there was _something,_ upon the air, that he was picking up on. Something...that he couldn't quite place, but he was certain it was real. His senses were fine-tuned; he'd always been aware and astute in life, and that hadn't changed any in death. As a demon now, in fact, there were all sorts of new things he was alerted to, being that his abilities had taken quite the shift upon his 'evolution' in the underworld. There was a strange sensation, emanating from somewhere in this house, and whatever it was, wanted his attention. Bracing himself in bated curiosity, Alastor waited once more for the call.

Immediately, there it was. The best way he could describe it, was as though someone were uttering a single syllable into the air, and as soon as it reached his hearing, it struck something deep inside him. A sort of whisper, that was fine-tuned to cause a reaction. His shadow was now stretching away from him, in the direction of the grand staircase. Tilting his head, he walked over, stopping at the foot of the steps to join his mirror image. With his hands now folded behind his back, mic-cane perched between tapping fingers, Alastor waited yet again. 

And just like that, the note reverberated through his very being. A soft breath, a coo of sound that was beckoning for his presence. Alastor hadn't experienced anything like this before, alive or dead. But his interest was decidedly piqued, as his shadow begin to twitch and swing side to side, like an expectant pet. Bringing his mic-cane to his lips, he let out a low growl, laced with a hint of excitement. “Change of plans...we're going on a little excursion first.” 

Before the being could protest, he dispersed it into the nether with a snap, and in another move, had vanished himself. Only to reappear at the landing to the second floor. With his shadow leering, lips stretched wide into a jagged smile, Alastor took a few steps down the still battered hallway. Was it, perhaps, coming from his former prison's location?

Another ping. This time, both figures turned behind them, instead. No, the sound was not coming from this way – it was stemming from around the stairs. Walking back to the midway point, Alastor's fluffy ears flicked away at something unseen, like a horse swatting a pesky fly. His shadow was practically bouncing in anticipation, waiting for the next clue. 

This time, it was far clearer: the sound was coming from the third floor; the last level of the house, and the only place Alastor hadn't entered yet since his arrival. Thus, no simple travel via a flick of the wrist. He would have to do this part the old-fashioned way. But hey, at least his legs weren't broken. And, who could say no to a classically-themed hunt? 

So, with an expectant smirk upon his lips, the Radio Demon slowly made his way upstairs, wondering what could possibly lie in store. Whatever, or **whoever,** was seeking his attentions...

...well, they'd certainly gotten it. Here's hoping they didn't regret it. 

**…...**

Meanwhile, tucked away beneath tangled, pastel blankets and sheets, a lone figure was tossing and turning, trembling as hushed murmurs fell from her lips. Golden locks were splayed out behind and over her shoulders, with every tense motion she made. She gripped at her pillow as though for dear life, and sweat was trailing down her temples, as though she were engaged heavily in some sort of intense encounter.

In actuality, Charlie was dreaming. Or, more accurately, having a nightmare, the likes of which she'd never experienced before, in all her twenty-one years.

If she managed to wake up, she could pray fervently that she also never repeated the sight.

Once more, she stood in that long hallway. Alone, her heart racing, as the sounds of angry voices and violence rose up hot on her tail. Stumbling forwards, she tried to run, run as fast and far as she had the night before. But, it was as though her legs were weighted – not from mere exhaustion, but from unknown restraint. Again and again, she struggled to move forwards. 

It was like being stuck in tar. The more she fought, the louder the voices grew. The sharper the explosions and gunfire became. The farther away the end of the hallway seemed to be. The walls were stretching up ever higher, curving above her into the ceiling, until it felt less like she were in a mansion, and more like she'd been trapped in a pale tunnel. Overhead, the lights were burning out, and with each one that fizzled out, another door beside her would disappear. Charlie was frantically trying every knob she could manage to reach, but none would open under her touch. And the sounds were only drawing **closer,** getting **_louder - !_**

Just as she had found her way to yet another entrance, her ankle suddenly gave out, and she fell straight down into the floor with a hard slam. It knocked the wind out of her lungs, and Charlie let out both a cry and choked cough, fighting to climb back onto her feet again. This time, she was practically dragging herself across the wood and carpet. Her tiny fists slapped against them, with every labored pull. The heaviness surrounding her was only getting worse, and the door she'd been so eager to reach, was being stretched further away from her. 

Now, it was as though time and space itself were warping. The walls were separating from the floor, leaving nothing but the inky black to swallow her up. The faint traces of the remaining lights ahead were rapidly blinking out of existence, and Charlie was clawing her way back, finally able to plant her palms against the ground, and push off. Staggering to her feet, hearing ringing with the sounds of chaos and fearsome tormentors so close behind, she could only keep moving ahead, towards the lights, as her feet pounded against the lone remaining strip before her.

The sluggishness to her body was gone, at least, but the end didn't seem to be drawing any closer. The frightening soundtrack continued to trail her easily, and Charlie had no idea if the supposed last door, so small in her sight, was even reachable. But, she could move. That's all she could do. Keep moving, keep running. _Pound, pound, pound, pound._ That was the sound of both her hurried footsteps, and frantic heart.

Suddenly, without warning, the setting jolted. Like something out of a cartoon, the path she was on flipped up into the air, and Charlie was thrown clear off of it, into the emptiness below. She couldn't tell whether or not she was screaming; all she could do was watch, with her arm outstretched, as the hallway grew fainter and smaller above her head. As soon as it disappeared, so too went the last traces of any light.

Now, the air surrounding her, whipping her hair and clothes apart, was bone-chilling to the touch. It was as though the darkness itself was calling her; hissing wicked little words that she couldn't quite make out. But, she could certainly tell, just by the sickness in the pit of her stomach, and the fear coursing through her veins: she _really_ didn't want to know. Knowing those things, let alone being able to see where the inhuman whispers were originating from, was _**not**_ in her best interest.

Then... **silence.** Immediate, crushing silence, just as Charlie landed hard once more. This time, she was in her living area, though everything was spaced out from her lone figure, and dim. It was so empty; even the furnishings seemed so ineffective at filling the area, what with how spread out the room had become. She was the only thing with any sort of brightness. As though a giant, lone spotlight were trained directly above.

This was **_not_** a good thing, either.

Slowly, a sound began to fill the quiet, just as Charlie took note of the shuffling motions in the gloom surrounding her. As they grew clearer, drawing closer, her blood ran cold. 

Groaning, wheezing, crying, moaning. It was the sounds of the damned and dying. She was staring straight at her unfortunate guests, and the greed-stricken terrorists. They were all making their way towards her, as one nebulous mass of faces and grisly gore. She could see their hands, grabbing at the air, begging to take hold of her and drag her down into their depths. The _gazes_ they bore at her, the nearer they drew...

 ** _Hatred. Accusation. Betrayal. Fear. Agony. Depravity._** Charlie's heart was skipping, realizing that if she didn't start moving soon, they would have her trapped entirely. Once more, all she could do was run. The glare above her followed her as she progressed, but so too did the humanoid shapes about her grow in size. Now, she could hear words, little fragments and pieces, stabbing into her ears, cutting her down to the core.

_“She left us...to die...”_

_“Spoiled little bitch...”_

_“Such a disgrace...”_

_“Help me...help me...”_

_“I'm bleeding...it hurts so much...”_

_“Where is she...”_

_“Get her...get the money...”_

_“She'll be dead soon...”_

A mixture of criminals and the unintentionally condemned – but, wasn't that what they said about Hell itself? The road was absolutely _paved_ with **good** intentions? Charlie had only ever wanted to help anyone, but by merely having a party and turning a year older...so many innocent lives had been lost. So much blood had been shed. Even the mercenaries themselves – no matter the atrocities they committed, they were still human. And she'd been willing to end their lives, when push ultimately came to shove. She was no saint.

They were closing in. She could see the staircase in the distance; the rest of the room seemed to have been consumed by the mass of hungry, pleading, demanding souls. The light was narrowing, as the space surrounding her grew smaller. The bodies were starting to rise up directly in front of her, blocking the structure from view. Charlie felt the strangled whimper escape her throat, the wave of deceased beginning to loom above. It was almost pitch black. She could practically smell the gunpowder, the sweat, the decay - ! 

“Ah?” Without warning, a pair of hands had grabbed her, directly under her arms, hauling her straight up and over the writhing masses. She could see them, swarming the spot where she'd been standing not a second ago. Now, Charlie was flying through the air, on a direct path to the steps. A fresh gleam was growing brighter, and her heart skipped for a moment, hoping against hope that this was the end of all this horrifying madness. 

But... _who_ was carrying her to safety?

In a few more paces, she found herself being placed at the foot of the staircase. Looking upwards, towards the now foreboding structure, Charlie swallowed hard, even as she touched down upon the first step. Before she began her trek, however, Charlie realized, that she hadn't yet seen who had saved her in the first place. 

So, carefully turning around...

...Charlie locked eyes, with none other than her dearest friend, Vaggie. But the sight that greeted her...was _nothing_ she could've been prepared for.

An animated corpse. It was as though Vaggie had been restored to life, but without any actual sign of a living being inside. Her body was battered and rotting, the bullet wound in her stomach now a gaping hole blown wide open. There were patches of flesh missing from her skin, and continuing to fall. She was rapidly decomposing before her eyes. 

The eyepatch she always wore, had been torn off entirely, and her bangs were being forced to the side, by the flapping of her large, glowing wings. Just like the ones she'd had when brought back. But they couldn't fix the broken girl standing in front of her. The empty, scarred socket that stared back at her, accompanied by a wide, pure white eye to the right, seemed to stare straight through her, asking a question that Charlie didn't know if she could answer. 

Letting out a crackling wheeze, Vaggie's lips parted, the corners tearing and splitting as her mouth grew wider. Charlie recoiled in horror; her teeth began to fall out, clattering upon the floor. She was reaching out with a bony hand, asking for something... _something_ that this time, Charlie was _**certain**_ she couldn't give.

She was going to be sick. Feeling the tears forming in her eyes, she forced a balled-up fist into her mouth, spinning quickly with a sob. Over and over in her head, the words _I'm sorry!_ screeched out like a warning siren. All Charlie could do was flee up the stairs, not daring to look back at the shell of her friend. 

Vaggie had returned again. But at what cost? Charlie's selfish heart? When it was already her fault that the young woman had to suffer in the first place?

Farther and farther she fled, the staircase seeming to stretch for an eternity. The only sound to accompany her was the clicking of her heels. Charlie didn't know what she was running to, but it had to be better than everything she'd bore witness to up until now. It _had_ to be! Everything always had to get worse before it could get better, right?

Up ahead, in her dampened vision, Charlie could see...another pair of doors. But not just any doors, oh no. Her heart nearly did a loop-de-loop at the sight. Those wide double doors, with the golden handles and red apple insignia...

...those were the doors to her parents' room. The only place she had left to enter, to seek solace in. In a few more taps, she found herself directly before them. Without hesitation, she reached out to turn and yank them open. Slipping inside the shadowy space, she heard them close behind her with an echoing thud. Instantly, the nausea and panic were rising in her chest once more.

Bodies. Strewn about like toys tossed in a temper-tantrum. Missing pieces, torn like documents through a shredder. The lighting was that same ultraviolet neon, just like when she'd first shared that dance, that moment in time; a transfixing musical number, brought to life by none other than...

Static. The static was hurriedly rising around her, and Charlie scurried forth, desperate to find a hiding place. For some reason...the anxiety in her chest was continuing to peak. She felt eyes, far too many for her liking, surrounding her and boring into her with a heated, laser precision. Watching her, tracking her, waiting for something so eagerly and expectantly. And it was **nothing** good.

Failure. They were awaiting her downfall.

Her breathing was getting raspy, and Charlie could sense her movements becoming stilted. Where had all of the furniture gone? All she saw was gore, a mass gravesite in day-glo technicolor. It was nearly assaulting her eyes. Fighting the tugs and tears at her skirt, Charlie's hands finally connected with something solid before her: a wall. With fumbling palms, she allowed herself to trail over the smooth, decidedly cooler surface -

“Ah!” Suddenly, a raised surface, and distinct edges. She recognized this sensation. The secret door! Before she could stop herself, Charlie was already slipping her right hand down, where the knob would've been, holding back another yelp as once more, the mechanism pierced through. 

But, this time...it hurt _far_ worse than before. Like the spike had fully gone through. As she pulled her hand away, the cry she'd fought to hold back was now escaping with a new fury. The harder she pulled, the greater the pain grew. She could hear ripping and snapping, and feel the air wrapping around her appendage in an unfamiliar manner. Still, she continued to struggle, with all the ferocity of a wild animal. She needed to get away, no matter the cost! And with a final rough yank, Charlie was free at last. 

Minus her right hand.

The bile was already bubbling into her throat, spilling over onto her tongue, as with a shaky lift, Charlie took in the stump where it had once been. The bone stuck out at awkward, ghastly angles, with little spurts of blood shooting up above. Before the vomit could pass her lips however, the great barrier swung open, allowing Charlie to peer inside. Even in her suffering, she found herself stepping forwards. 

_Red._ A swirling red miasma, with a scorching hot mist licking at her skin, sizzling against the open wound she now bore. She could hear inhuman noises once more, from far within its depths, but could see naught but boiling scarlet. It was too humid to bear! With a frightened jolt of a spin, Charlie tried to turn away...

...only to crash headfirst into a solidly built torso. Heart dropping straight down, Charlie forced herself to look upwards at the new figure.

There before her, stood none other...than _**Alastor.**_ The Radio Demon. The last piece in the puzzle. He stared down at her, smile in place like always. But, all Charlie wanted to do, was run as far away from him as possible. The cries from before were immediately being drowned out by his overwhelming static, which was going absolutely haywire as he leaned in close. 

His lips were stretched so wide and so high, that she could see the edges of his gums as he continued to gloat at her. There was fresh blood and matter caught among them, tarnishing the gold gruesomely. Those unknown symbols were flickering about, as the dials in his eyes spun too fast to follow. His horns were growing, and that familiar little 'X' was reappearing upon his forehead. 

Opening his mouth, a long tongue slipped out, sliding up her cheek with a disgusting slurp. Charlie recoiled in horror; she could smell the scent of flesh and salty metal left in its wake. But as she did so, she wobbled; the open gateway was all that remained behind her...and it would be over if she fell through there. That was not a place for her, right?

... **right?**

 _ **“Charlie Magne...”**_ Her name passed through his teeth in such a low rumble that she shuddered from head to toe. This was not doing anything to help her balance! Her heart was going too quickly for her to keep up with – for all she really knew, it had stopped already. She couldn't feel herself breathing, as a sharply pointed, gloved finger, placed itself under her chin, tilting her head back. Charlie couldn't even think about running. Every part of her body was frozen solid, not by frost, but as though her system was paralyzed directly. Over the frightful monster's shoulder, she could see his twisted shadow waving at her mockingly.

With a smooth, guttural whisper, he uttered the last words she would ever hear. _**“Don't forget to smile.”**_

Instantly, she knew what was coming. With a flick of his digit, Charlie fell straight backwards, through the vermilion doorway. Alastor's form was rapidly fading, and as the unholy sounds and unbearable heat engulfed her entirely, Charlie's vision disappeared completely, as she proceeded to incinerate out of existence. 

The weight her soul bore was crushing, even as her body was entirely consumed -

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 🎉 🎊 🎈 **HAPPY NEW YEARS** , one & all! At LONG last, we can say: GOODBYE 2020, & hel-LO, 2021!! Also, adding onto that: a new Chapter! Yay! This came out a bit later than I expected, but...I **just** finished a new Chapter for it like, not even five minutes ago. I've been working since...9 or 10pm+ here? [It's 15 minutes to 1am now]. So, better late than never!
> 
> Hopefully, this update is also up to snuff? Yes, the cliffhangers are back. And...this Chapter, unlike some of the last one, is _not_ happy. Truly, this is a horrifying perspective that Charlie has found herself in. Hopefully, I did a good enough job of capturing the feel I was going for, without being too dramatic, or not detailed enough. It's to be expected that things wouldn't be so easy as merely falling asleep, to wake up anew...
> 
> Here, we also see Alastor, planning & calculating, before being distracted unexpectedly. I wonder how he plans to take care of the mess? And, what exactly was so powerful that it led him away so intently...?
> 
> You'll just have to wait & see, dear Readers. Again: **I'M SO SORRY** that this wasn't out sooner! Here's hoping that the next future Chapter I write comes to me a bit easier than this one did, so I can get Fifteen up here in a timely fashion. As always: **_Feedback is welcomed, encouraged, & appreciated._** I treasure it all, & I look forward into making more 'Hazbin Hotel' fanfic memories with all of you, as we head into 2021.
> 
> Next time: Awakening, & unexpected faces.
> 
> Take care now, & be safe! As our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_


	15. Wasted Early Sunday Morning...Wait, What Day IS It, Anyway?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With a sudden awakening from the hell-scape of the subconscious...to an unexpected morning intrusion. Charlie's vocals are certainly getting quite the workout today! And that's all before the introduction, of a pair of familiar yet new faces...truly, Alastor's powers & knowledge know no bounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **!!💖💖💖Go check out the AMAZING fanart drawn for this story, by the lovely & talented user Popoto! All pic links can be found down below!!💖💖💖**
> 
> **https://www.instagram.com/p/B_bnQLXhLNQ/  
>  https://www.instagram.com/p/B_t6qpDhTMX/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAJ_UAJB7jN/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAUVf9xhuiW/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CAjnw5iBdNa/  
> https://www.instagram.com/p/CBeJN7gAsKM/**
> 
> **NOTE: Now doing Hazbin Hotel comic dubs on my YouTube channel! Here's the link if you're interested: https://www.youtube.com/channel/UCDrYSA5wWxld94eXxlFtAUg**

Charlie woke up screaming, nearly drowning in her own sweat. Tears were flowing down her face like a broken dam. She could barely make out her surroundings – for a moment, from how hot her body was, she swore she was still falling through the abyss. It was only when she felt the bunch of fabric between her fingers, and the comfort of a wide mattress beneath her crumpled form, that she realized what had happened. 

The cry of sheer terror and anguish she'd let out continued to ring in her ears as she lifted a trembling hand, to rest lightly against her chest. The irregular beats of her heart beneath did not serve to soothe her any, even knowing that she was still alive. Her throat was stinging from the forceful sound she'd uttered, and no matter how many times she blinked, her vision did not grow any clearer. The tears kept falling, and in her mind's eye, all she could see...was that God-awful imagery, brought to a twisted life in her tormented subconscious.

Shaking her head desperately, Charlie now reached up, sniffling and wiping furiously at her face. Sweat and waterworks, and even snot, were mixing together upon the back of her hands, as her long locks stuck to her cheeks. Twinges rang through one side, vaguely swollen from where she'd been smacked before during the scuffle in the bedroom. She was fighting to regain stability, repeating over and over in her head:

_It was just a bad dream. That's all. A bad dream. It wasn't real. It never happened. You're okay. It's going to be okay. **You're still alive...**_

After a few minutes of shaky hiccuping and gasping, Charlie's sobs began to subside. Her hands were resting against the blankets once more; she needed to make sure she washed them when she left her bed. Her head was hanging down, hair falling forwards like a pale straw-colored canopy. She honestly felt like a little child, so frightened and near-inconsolable after waking up in such a panic. 

If she were still a child, she could've just sprinted to her parents' room. If she were much younger than she was now, they'd still be there, and wouldn't complain when she'd scramble up the foot of the mattress, crawling clumsily towards their groggily rising forms at the head.

But she was no longer a kid. Not only had her folks been absent for years, but now, she didn't even know if they were still alive. No matter the turmoil between both sides, she loved them dearly. Always had, always would. In this moment though, she was alone. 

She wasn't even sure what time was on the clock; since there was a bit of soft pastel light filtering in through her drawn curtains, Charlie figured that it must've been daybreak, at least. But, unknowing of what hour it actually was, there was no way she'd go looking for someone to confide in. Who was really around, anyway?

Vaggie was downstairs, tucked away in one of the guest rooms. After everything she'd been through and had to adapt to, Charlie wasn't about to wake her up just over this. She was an adult now, and she had to learn how to deal with this stuff on her own. Even if a pair of arms wrapped around her tightly would've eased her frantic heart, she knew better than to expect such things at this point in her life.

Besides, other than Vaggie, the only other resident in the manor would be...

It was at that moment...that Charlie took note of how the light seemed to have dimmed just so...as though something had just placed itself beside her, dividing the glow from her windows. Confused, Charlie lifted her head...

...to come face-to-face with wide, red eyes, fluffy matching locks, and a great golden grin, looking for all the world as though he had the greatest news in existence to divulge. Their noses were nearly touching, and Charlie could feel a fresh wave of – well, _**everything!**_ \- welling up inside of her. This time, she might've been conscious, but she didn't even bother holding back. 

The shriek that ripped forth was like a siren, as she scurried away from him, towards the farther side of her bed, until her hand almost slipped off the edge. The whole time, the crimson being didn't respond, not to her piercing voice directly in his face, nor her frantic actions in trying to get away from him. His hands were folded neatly behind his back, as Charlie struggled to catch her breath, freaking out over seeing him, so close, so early in the morning, after her prior nightmare.

Not only that...but, he was in her room. A space that she'd never shown to him before this. How **had** he found his way up here?

As her wide-eyed stare roved over him like a cracked-out deer in headlights, Alastor merely tilted his head, expression never changing. After another few seconds had passed, he finally opened his mouth...and began laughing. 

“My oh my, that's quite the greeting there, little lady! You are just full of surprises aren't you, miss Charlie Magne?” The blonde could feel the connections inside her mind beginning to snap, as an eye twitched. His laughter was slowly tapering down, into a lower chuckle. He was honestly finding amusement, in having scared the living daylights out of her, while being in a domain he hadn't even been invited to in the first place?! Gradually, the fear coursing through her veins was starting to be replaced with a fresh surge of...disbelieving anger.

Fists clenched tightly, Charlie found herself crawling back over defiantly, to lock watery eyes with the cheerful creature. “You – You – _You!_ Who said that you could just – invite yourself in here, my bedroom? Let alone sticking your face in mine, and – and acting like a creeper?? And now, you think this is all just some – some great big joke?!” Her cheeks were puffed and flushed, but Charlie could've cared less about any sort of expression she might've been making. 

A finger extended, to poke as sharply as she could manage, into his chest. Huh, that's right...he didn't react to these touches. Why? Was it only specific contact that set him off? Whatever, she didn't care! After everything she'd just gone through, Charlie was going to let him have it! “You don't even know – what kind of sleep I had! I feel like absolute shit right now, and you coming up here to – to practically rub it in my face, is not - ”

She was cut off abruptly, by a sudden smooth reply. “I know.” Instantly, Charlie was silenced. What...what exactly did that mean? For a few strained, terse seconds, the empty air, devoid of sound, stretched out between them.

Then, with a delicate touch, a descriptor Charlie couldn't quite believe was being applied to Alastor by she herself, he proceeded to take her stiff hand in his. Carefully, he curled her index finger down, until it was tucked, just like the others, back against her palm. Now holding her fist in his grasp, he lowered that too, so there was nothing between them. 

Though he hadn't hurt her in any way, his aura and mannerisms were more than enough to keep her from resistance or retaliation. Alastor had something on his mind, and she had no choice but to listen.

“Heh heh...you know, it was the **strangest** thing,” he began, staring at their pair of hands still connected. Gaze flickering up to meet hers, his eyes narrowed just so. “I was minding my own business downstairs, as you do when one is a guest, when suddenly...I heard a most _unusual_ sound.” Charlie gulped then; it hadn't been her screaming that had brought him up here, had it...? Before she could ask, he continued on.

“Like the faintest chime of a bell, a little breathy plea...tickling my hearing and refusing to leave me be.” Well. That certainly did not sound anything close to what she'd let out upon first awakening. “For whatever reason, I...no, _we_ ,” and at this, he chuckled, as his shadow rose up beside him, snickering behind its clawed hand, “just couldn't ignore, the way that sound called to us, from the inside out. Truly, we'd never experienced it before.”

An unreadable expression flashed across his scarlet gaze for but a second, as he turned her fist over in his grasp. Now, he was gingerly spreading each of her fingers. With a sudden pang of realization, Charlie took note, that...it was her right hand. The one that had helped to break the seal, and bring him into this world. The wound was much tamer in the daylight, though still sensitive. 

Examining it in muted contemplation, his lips, pulled into a softer grin, pursed slightly. “That sound would not leave us alone. And, as I am a man who doesn't exactly like to waste time...I decided to go straight to the source, and settle this once and for all.” Charlie's heart thudded hard, as Alastor now regarded her with his stare, quietly vexed and inquisitive, all at once. “And that's how I found my way here. To you.” 

Releasing her hand at long last, he reached up, to this time point a finger directly in the center of her face. He could've easily pushed the tip of her nose if he'd wished. “Charlie-belle...you seem to be capable of far more than you understand. Our _new bond_...” She shivered involuntarily, at his particular emphasis here. “...is leading me to some very _interesting_ speculations about you, and our time together on this mortal coil.” 

Tilting his head with a sharp crack, Charlie was startled from her momentary shock, as more hearty laughter rang out. She would never get used to either of those things, though more so the unnatural snapping. Alastor was no longer deep in thought, his expression now one of jovial enthusiasm anew. “I forgot how **odd** humans could be, when they're all sleeping like defenseless little babies!” Did...did he _really_ have to phrase it as such? “You were _such_ a **treat** , though! Whimpering and thrashing, like you were fighting for your life – or something just as close!” 

Charlie's jaw dropped, as he took on a dramatic pose. “Who would've thought, that level of emotion could be elicited from someone tucked away in 'dreamland', as they say?” He was absolutely beside himself in glee upon the recollection, but all she could focus on, was the fact that...

“You were watching me sleep?? Seeing what – what was going on??” Charlie slapped a palm to the side of her forehead, wincing as it was her right hand. Ignoring everything he'd just dropped on her about how he'd wound up here to begin with, as well as the pain, she was now trying to process the fresh information he'd presented her with. “One – didn't you say it's rude to watch people sleep? And two – you saw me freaking out while I was knocked out? And you – you didn't think to, oh, I don't know, _**wake me up?!**_ ” Again, she was rewarded with a chortle of amusement.

“Of course not, dear! I didn't want to interrupt the show! And besides...” He added on, leaning in close once more. In response, Charlie found herself drawing back, like one of those comical cartoons Vaggie would share with her on social media. “...I didn't say it's rude to watch people _sleep_. I said it's rude to _stare._ ” 

Pulling away, he smirked at her decidedly flushed features, as she struggled to wrap her head around all of this. Alastor was full of surprises – far more than she could keep up with. “So, if I hadn't been asleep, you wouldn't have paid attention?” She was trying feebly to turn his words against him, just as he'd done to her prior. 

But all she got for her efforts was a wink and shake of the head. “Oh, wouldn't **you** like to know, dearest Charlie-belle.” Well. That was the end of that discussion, then.

As the silence descended between them, after the chaotic awakening, Alastor allowed his eyes to take in the details of Charlie's boudoir that he hadn't bothered paying any notice to upon his first arrival. He'd been too utterly transfixed on tracking down the source of that noise...and then wondering, how on Earth could Charlie be pulling this stunt, in her then slumbering state?

Now that she was awake, he still hadn't received any sort of satisfactory explanation to his liking. But, oh well. They'd have plenty of time to get to know one another from here on out. It wasn't many a person or being who could get away with keeping secrets from him. Whether unknowing or otherwise on her part, the inner workings of miss Charlie Magne would soon be his to pour over and unravel to his blackened heart's content.

Did that possibly include her literal insides, as well?

His focus returned to the trappings surrounding him. The walls were a soft, powder pink, fitting for a sweet and sprightly soul such as Charlie. The long curtains over the wide windows – free of the stained glass that seemed to adorn so many others – were thin and white, fluttering lightly in a slight breeze. It seemed one of the panes was still opened a crack. Considering all that had happened the night prior, perhaps she should do something about it. 

The bed Charlie was residing in was wide, enough to hold maybe three, or even four people. Again, the sheets were a mix of pastels, this time including yellow and grey upon the comforter. Patterns that Alastor couldn't be bothered to identify at the moment were speckled across the thick surface, and his gaze traveled upwards and around instead, head moving right along with it. 

Beside the bed was a simply carved wooden nightstand, bearing a plain metallic silver lamp with a flexible neck. A more modern design that what had existed back in his time period. A couple of rubber bands, a notepad with muddled scratchings, and a lone pen, were all that rested upon its top. The floor was empty, save for the pile of discarded, dirty garments in the corner nearest to the windows. 

He recognized them as the ones Charlie had been adorned in when they'd first met. He did hope she was planning to save them. Nothing was quite so _exhilarating_ as looking back and reminiscing on your first brush will death...or your first kill. Why yes, he **was** speaking from experience, hee.

Directly in front of the bed, was a massive three-mirrored vanity, framed with bulb lights and covered with all sorts of scattered about feminine items and knick-knacks. He recalled the minor traces of makeup Charlie had bore upon her skin prior, and had a vague mental image of her seated upon the cushy stool in front of the drawers and illuminated reflective surface. Dragging the hairbrush through her golden locks, extending down to her waist. Applying the rouge and lipstick timidly, as whatever color had been present hadn't lasted through the night. Besides, her features had more than enough natural flush to make up for it. 

And, if Alastor were to be perfectly honest...he preferred that better.

To the right and left of the vanity, were shuttered closet doors. Designed with wooden white blinds, they bent outwards to allow access. From the way it was set up, he surmised that both ends opened to a long strip of space, running behind the dresser. He could only imagine what was contained inside; women's fashion had never been an area of interest for him, seeing as, alive or otherwise, he'd barely had any lady friends, never mind any affections or sweethearts. He hadn't had the energy to waste on such trivial matters. 

Finally, in the left corner, tucked away behind the door, was a large wicker seat. Its back was like a basket, the bottom serving as the inner rest, with a sturdy solid standing base. Another thick set of rose-colored cushions were placed about, while the main one to sit on was covered in all manner of...stuffed toys. From the way some of them appeared, it was clear that they'd been in this room for quite some time.

It was this display, and the nudging of his shadow, that suddenly drew Alastor's attention. 

Now that the conversation had seemed to again peter out between them, Charlie figured that this was probably the best time to mull over everything that had just happened. Yes, including that awful dream. 

Even after having come to her clear resolution for the future before nodding off, it hadn't been enough to spare her slumber from the overwhelming traumas of the night's events. Certainly, she knew she wasn't going to get off completely scot-free, but...she hadn't been expecting this to be the first callback to greet her right out of the gate. That nightmare was more than just a series of frightful images; it was a mental horror movie, directed entirely by her own guilt and shame, with an extra credit to her panic and confusion. 

In the end, pretty words and late-night pep talks wouldn't do a thing to heal the invisible scars, upon her psyche and spirit. It was going to take a long time before life returned to any sort of real 'normal' state, and that was taking into account the newly established demonic presences, too. Biting at her lower lip in thought, Charlie recalled back to the very end of her dream.

Alastor, no matter his persona and mannerisms, couldn't really be called any sort of 'friendly' character. She could never fully tell what he was thinking behind the scenes, seeing as that smile wouldn't leave his face for an instant. It varied in its positioning or intensity, but it never once disappeared. Honestly, Charlie had to wonder if he could even actually frown. And, if he could...what would it be like, to see? 

Would that be worse to see before she died? A frowning Alastor, as opposed to the vision that had towered over her in that nightmare? Who mocked every last shred of trust and security she'd been, at first, forced to put in him, before eventually relenting to do so of her own accord? Maybe that part of the dream, occurring after she'd fled from the garish image of a rotting Vaggie, who'd still guided her to safety...

...was based off of the conversation she and said woman had had prior to her tending to Alastor. Just how much faith could she truly place in him?

Even with all he'd done for her, he was an unholy creature, a deviant who had no business roaming the Earth's surface, let alone being 'employed' as he was in her current life. But, she'd had no way to return him from whence he came, and at the same time, had been in a situation she couldn't have overcome on her own. He'd had something to offer, something very precious and important: resolution. Finality. An answer to the ongoing destruction; he could effectively end it all in just a few moves. All she'd had to do was come to their arrangement - set to her terms, not his, just to refresh her memory. He'd bent over backwards to accommodate her, without so much as an objection. 

He hadn't faltered in any of his responses when she'd had to utilize him in the conflict. And even when he'd stepped completely out of line, nearly turning Vaggie into a rag doll-target practice, he'd flipped it around, to instead save her own life when she'd shoved Vaggie out of the way of the second shot fired. He'd allowed himself to get hurt...

...and subsequently, also relented to her later passionate request, of caring for the unnaturally caused, unnatural injury. Even with his bizarre hang-up of not being touched by anyone – or, at least, in most ways, he had apparently no problems with her trying to look intimidating when she'd poke at his chest in heated, petulant frustration. He'd still been willing to set it aside, for one instance, all for her.

How much of this was just attributed to his act of being a classic gentleman, and what could actually be considered genuine?

Charlie already had to weigh everything he'd elaborated on to her, in the moments they'd shared before having to take care of the morbid business her birthday had devolved into. When they'd shared that personal, spontaneous waltz across a paranormal crime scene. When he'd alerted her to the royally cursed heritage she shared in; who her parents actually were, more than just a high-flying pair of pretty faces, wickedly successful in every undertaken venture. 

Her head was starting to spin, under the amount of stress obtained in attempting to process everything that had dropped down upon her shoulders yet again. It wasn't enough that her parents were missing, she had full control of the company, and she'd just turned twenty-one, oh no. Add to that all the cruelty and black magic that had happened shortly thereafter, and now, this fuckery, so early in the morning?

Sleep was supposed to restore your energy. You were meant to wake up well-rested, ready to take on the new day with a spring in your step. That's what Charlie had been hoping for, before she'd nodded off how many hours prior. Most likely, it hadn't really been that long, it was just that with the way things were now, it felt as though an entire lifetime had passed since the birthday massacre, and the subsequent dragging nightmare. 

Instead, Charlie felt just as world-weary and beaten down as she had after finally trooping upstairs. There were still so many things she was unsure of, and probably wouldn't figure out until who knew when. What, was Alastor going to sing and dance with her every time she needed new answers? She actually had to hold back a little snort of laughter at the thought – though it was quickly pushed aside by the recollection of just how... _ **menacing,**_ he'd come across in her early morning subconscious mind-fuck. Was that...what he could fully be capable of with her too, if she didn't watch her step...

...or got too familiar?

In a momentary panic, Charlie's head shot straight up, realizing that she hadn't checked in with the scarlet terror for a few minutes by this point. Had he left her room, and her in peace? Or was he -

“Ah...?” Instantly, her eyes landed on him, standing in the corner facing her 'Plushie Chair'. That was where she kept her collection of soft toys that she'd collected over the years. Once she'd grown up, most of her childhood belongings had either been thrown out, or given away if they were in salvageable condition – by her own doing, no one else's. But the stuffed dolls...they held a special place in her heart. So, she'd given them their own personal spot in her room to signify this.

Alastor's attention was entirely on the pair of matching figures in each clawed hand. With a fearful yank in her chest, Charlie took in the sight – and was immediately scrambling out from where she was wound up in her bedclothes. Not caring that she was in but her nightshirt, sleeve slipping down to expose her bare shoulder, while the edges shifted around her thighs. Charlie was frantic to get the toys out of his grasp. 

“Put them down!” The pitch of her voice was something that Alastor hadn't yet heard from her mouth, and it honestly surprised him a little. He wasn't entirely sure whether to be intrigued, or concerned. Was it normal for humans to make such sounds? Charlie was already in front of him, grabbing for the two little goats. In response, Alastor did what he thought was appropriate:

He held them up above her head, even higher. Charlie was trying not to actually growl in frustration.

The two plushies, of all others that the demon could've picked, were a custom set that her parents had commissioned way back when she was a wee girl. They were a set of two little goat brothers, white with red fluff on their heads and down the backs of their necks. To top it off, they were clad in matching suits. Charlie could still vaguely recall how happy she'd been to receive them on her third birthday. She'd squealed over them and hugged them both tightly, immediately declaring them to be named Razzle and Dazzle. Her parents hadn't questioned her naming choices – she was a kid, and kids were nothing if not good at silly nicknames.

Charlie had always cherished them, for a variety of reasons. For the longest time, she'd used to sleep with them in her bed, always reminded of the love her folks held for her. The quality of craftsmanship was beyond that of even what the high-end toy stores could provide, and she never had found out who the original creator was. Although Charlie had always done her best to take care of her toys, these two, in particular, she was especially protective and proud of. Even Vaggie was aware of the soft spot she held for them, even if she didn't quite understand it.

It was only after her parents had bowed out during her high school years, that Charlie had finally taken them from their place on her bed, to the chair in the corner. However, she'd made sure that they were always at the top of the pile, so she'd see them first thing when her eyes happened to glance over in that direction.

With hands balled up, ignoring the faint throb in her right palm, Charlie flailed her arms, seeing as she couldn't compete with Alastor's height. “Don't touch them! Just give them back! Please!” Even if Alastor wasn't so cruel as to purposefully damage her property, she couldn't guarantee that he might not accidentally mishandle them, misjudging his own general strength. 

His bemused crimson stare raked over her slowly, taking in the state of her messy locks, the cherry hue to her puffed-out cheeks and tiny nose, and her widened eyes. From her physical stance, a mix between attempted intimidation and childish disgruntlement. From the fact that he could see far more of her pale snowy skin, from her neck to her shoulders, her bare arms...and her thighs, all the way down...

It wasn't Alastor who'd been first inclined to investigate these two stuffed objects. His shadow had seemed to perk up immensely upon noticing the pile in the corner, and wouldn't leave him alone, not until he'd walked over to see it for himself. The dark figure had been zipping and swirling about, particularly focused on the two little goats. Of course the Daughter of the Devil would have such toys, if she were to have any at all. 

But, just like his doppelganger...he too, quickly realized that the set of soft objects...seemed to be emitting some sort of unusual aura. He couldn't see anything off the top of his head that might've signaled to any sort of hidden secrets, though now, seeing how Charlie was so adamant that he release them at once, his curiosity was heightened. These two, out of all the others, meant something important to her. And, they just happened to be the ones that had caught his eye. Coincidence, or something more? 

Well, he was about to find out. 

“Mm...I would've thought that a young woman like yourself, would've already grown out of keeping things like dolls.” Alastor was looking upwards, ignoring the fuming Charlie before him. Turning the stuffed animals around in his grasp overhead, his sharp eyes were, on the surface, lazily scanning them for any sort of odd marks or features. How interesting...they seemed to be growing warmer? 

The blonde below was just about ready to tackle him. Why was he mocking her like this?? What business was it of his what she kept in her room or on her person?! “And I would've thought that a – a grown man like yourself, would've grown out of being a bully!” At this, Alastor felt an eyebrow cock. Oh, she was sassy this morning, wasn't she? The smile on his face tugged up just a bit higher, as he now flipped the pair of toys, so he was now looking at their bellies. 

“Why, whatever do you mean, Charlie-belle? I simply wanted a closer look at your collection. These two, out of all the others, appear to be quite different from the norm. Judging by your reaction, I was right to pick them.” Huh...what was that tiny red spot, right under the center point in their suit collars? When they were facing upwards, it was near invisible. But when he flipped them like so, the tiny spot was apparent on both of them. 

Frustrated at not making any further progress in her attempts to get through to him, Charlie reverted to her old standby: jabbing her finger into his chest. “Yeah?? Well, you've – you've seen them plenty now! So give them back!” Although her aggravated enthusiasm was amusing, it wasn't enough to distract Alastor from his current task at hand. Bringing the two dolls a little closer to his face, he noted that the same red spot, dead center in their chests, was adorned at the very top...with two even tinier green dots. 

His eyes widened slightly, as his shadow wrapped itself around him, sliding up to his shoulders and gibbering excitedly. This was it; where that unusual sensation was stemming from. And, just based on that color scheme alone...Alastor had a pretty good idea what was going on here. Carefully, he drew them closer to his face. This lone action was enough to halt Charlie in her protests, as she was suddenly aware of the fact...

...that Alastor's eyes were glowing. And, so were the centers of her dolls.

His voice came out in a low, heavy hiss. _**“Reveal...awaken.”**_ A fine wisp of crimson mist snaked its way out of his mouth, traveling up the short path between his mouth and the two figures. Instantly, it split in half, immediately slipping into the stuffed toys where the light was stationed. 

The result was instantaneous. A bright flash of light, and two loud pops, like firecrackers. Charlie let out a cry, shielding her face as she momentarily blinded by a flash brighter than the sunlight rising outside her window. As soon as the sound and gleam had faded, she tentatively lowered her arm...

Well. Looks like she was batting three for three this morning. The third scream that was ripped from her throat was all that was needed, to send the birds beside her window screeching for cover. Nature just couldn't get a break around here, huh?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **WHEW...** And, a happy Valentine's Day - or just a happy day, in general - to all of you, too! ❤️💗💕I know, it's NOT Saturday that I'm posting this - it's Sunday. 'le gasp!' What the hell, breaking routine once won't kill me...I hope. 😂
> 
> Here we are, at long last: Chapter Fifteen! A new day has finally dawned! But already, things **aren't** starting off on the greatest foot. After the world's worst nightmare, Charlie is rudely interrupted in her domicile...by none other than a nosey Radio Demon! Imagine that: having **just** woken up from a horrible dream, to see Al less than an inch away from you? 😂😆😅 Eheheh...
> 
> Oh, but! What is this? It seems, that Al has more of a reason being here, than just merely sniffing around! That strange, soul-pulling sound from before, it led him here! Now, I wonder why that is...or, what it even was in the first place?
> 
> So, Charlie is _just_ starting to wind down & settle in, when suddenly...once again, Alastor sets her off! Here, some minor lighthearted RadioBelle teasing/banter here. Al, you meanie! 😆❤️ Also, we have a nod to Charlie's two little butler pals, Razzle & Dazzle, though in squishy plush form. ❤️
> 
> Or, at least... _for now._ What's Alastor up to here...? And why's Charlie screaming _again?_
> 
> You'll have to wait until next time to find out! I've been able to provide updates now two months in a row; perhaps once a month is best for my schedule? IDK. We'll see if my winning streak continues... 🤞🏻🤞🏻
> 
> As always, feedback is _**welcomed, appreciated, & encouraged.**_ Last Chapter...didn't really do so well, in regards to others? I'm kinda worried - again, I know. Forgive me. Just...losing my audience, & in turn, all my new friends...it's scary. IDK how else to explain it. The thought that I've upset, or turned people away... 💔 Many thanks to those of you who have supported me thus far. ❤️💗💕
> 
> Next time: Magic tricks! New arrivals! Showdowns! Vaggie being a BAMF! And Alastor...just _has_ to one-up everything, doesn't he?
> 
> Until next time, take care everyone. As our Deer-Daddy Strawberry Pimp would say... _**"Stay tuned."**_

**Author's Note:**

> [WTF is happening with my summary...?]
> 
> ...and now, THIS is a thing that's happened. Yeaaah...
> 
> Still loving this series, still being swarmed by PlotBunnies, still getting used to this site, still fighting with my muses, still trying to deal with the world as it is now, on top of all my other shit. 
> 
> Like I've said in my tags here [& in one of the A/N's for my other fic], I watch WAY too much HuniCast. The livestreams are AMAZING. And some of the requests they get are...just BEAUTIFUL. ESPECIALLY the ones for Alastor. 
> 
> That's how this story was inspired: a WHOLE bunch of creepy quote requests sent in, alone with an AMV that I'm currently obsessed with, set to the song that this tale is titled off of. Also, a handful of other stories & fan art. Plus, my general enjoyment of the RadioBelle pairing - sorry, Charlastor. 'is a very sad girl with her custom ship names'
> 
> Hopefully, although it's a little shorter than what I usually write, it's at least a little entertaining and mostly In-Character? Things are kinda starting off...HEAVY here, in this intro. But, it's how the muse spoke to me. I wrote this all out in one go, no breaks, & wound up with a sore hand for my troubles. 'is a pick & peck typer, come at me Bro'
> 
> But yeah...IDK where this story's gonna go, really. The other fic I'm working on, I have it pretty much planned out; it's just a matter of coaxing the muse into sticking around long enough for me to write it all, & eventually reach the end. THIS one, on the other hand...well, I had this whole sequence in mind for a WHILE now, & FINALLY, I just had to get it all out. So, I did. And, here it is. And now, I'm trying to build a full-length story around this starting point.
> 
> I have a few thoughts here & there...but I need more to connect them together. I don't wanna just be doing a rehash of the various inspirations, or even canon itself. AU's are my bread & butter, & as you can see here, this is definitely one of them [Human!Charlie, for starters...or is she??]. I'm just...not sure if I've got it in me to build up a proper AU for this fanfic. 
> 
> Don't worry, I'll definitely try. I'mma do my best, for sure. Just...does anybody even WANT to see this continued? Maybe I'm just way off the mark here in my interests...or the story ideas I've picked to share with everybody else. I'd REALLY like to make some new friends in this fandom...but I understand if people just aren't into the same things, even while enjoying the same source material. If anything, I can consider these two stories a good writing exercise, if nothing else - especially since I've mainly played in Manga/Anime fandoms up until now. This is a BIG step out of my comfort zone.
> 
> Okay then. Any sort of feedback, good or bad, is welcomed, encouraged, & appreciated. If any of you have thoughts of how you could see a story like this going as well, feel free to share. [If there's interest,] Maybe some of us'll be on the same wavelength, IDK. It might help to get my muse to stick around, as I really do dislike leaving a fanfic unfinished. 
> 
> Until next time [whenever that may be], take care, & stay safe everyone. ❤️


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